Forbidden
by Savageland
Summary: Ten years after Harry Potter defeated Voldemort, the Wizarding World seems safe: until two Hogwarts students disappear without a trace in the Forbidden Forest. Strangely linked to this incident is Severus Snape, who died in the Shrieking Shack. Or did he? When Hermione Granger is pulled into the investigation, she discovers the unimaginably dangerous truth. Complete.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Excerpt from an editorial in _The Daily Prophet_ for June 1, 1998 ~~

 _We will never forget that the destruction of He Who Could Not Be Named during the Battle of Hogwarts exacted a terrible price in the loss of many brave and dearly beloved friends. But we must now include in that roll call of the honoured dead a most unlikely hero. Suspected by some as a double agent and devoted discipline of the Dark, Severus Snape apparently sacrificed himself to protect Harry Potter._

 _Mr Potter has come forward (see "Snape Saved All of Us" on p. 1) with this stunning revelation. Though close-lipped about details as always, Mr Potter has asserted that Professor Snape's actions protected the highest values of the Wizarding World, and that he died serving the Light._

 _With this exoneration of Professor Snape, it is distressing that the former Potions Master's body remains missing. The Shrieking Shack and all its surroundings—even parts of the Forbidden Forest—have been scoured by Aurors. But after almost a month, there is little likelihood of finding his remains._

 _It will not be easy to elevate Severus Snape—an enigmatic, difficult, and unlikeable man—to the status of hero. But if Harry Potter can do it, then so must we. For who among us can imagine what may have passed through Snape's tortured mind as he did what he had to do? What must he have felt in his last painful and bloody moments? Only Harry Potter knows, and that is a Secret he seems bound and determined to Keep._

* * *

Hermione dropped the paper with a deep sigh and leaned her elbow on the Weasleys' huge, cluttered kitchen table. Cupping one cheek in her hand, she stared out the window into the garden, where late spring sunlight picked out each brilliant green leaf. She was too tired to move, let alone go outside, though the warmth would have eased her. The month since the Battle had been a blur of picking up pieces, grieving the dead—missing their voices, laughter, wisdom—and sometimes just breathing air now free of the taint of Darkness. Even the Weasleys, still devastated, were finding comfort in each other, and their care of Hermione during this difficult time made her throat ache with gratitude. But Ron, who up until this point had shown a sensitivity that surpassed all her expectations, was starting to convey a trace of impatience with her lethargy.

 _. . . there is little likelihood of finding his remains._

Her mind raced, like Crookshanks chasing his own tail, turning and turning back to the night of the Battle. She tried to stop, to pull her mind away, but her thoughts spiraled toward the Shrieking Shack when she and Harry and Ron had huddled, hidden, as Snape lived through his final moments. Only Harry had seen Snape enveloped and slashed by the Dark Lord's hideous snake, but even Harry's terse description of the scene much later couldn't match the horror she'd felt as she heard the fatal crisis tighten, rise, and reach its brutal end with Voldemort's three cold words: "I regret it." When she finally emerged into the Shack, the blood pooling around Snape seemed strangely unreal. After thrusting the phial at Harry she'd been unable to move, mesmerized and struck dumb by the strangely graceful unspooling of Snape's memories.

Then, like Eurydice, she'd made the mistake of looking back as they left the Shack—just to make sure he really was beyond help—and almost froze with shock. Snape's dead black eyes, fixed and glassy, were looking straight at her, as if reproaching her for leaving him alone . . . or loathing her for cowardice. She'd hesitated, almost gone back. How she wished she had. Hermione kept telling herself she'd done what she could; the morning after the Battle, she'd reminded Ron that they had a duty to bring Professor Snape back, but Ron had said no need. _No one'll touch that git if they can help it._ When at last Harry rounded up some Aurors and led them to the Shrieking Shack, they'd found nothing but gouts of dried blood.

Not long after, the dreams began. In some, she was in the Shrieking Shack, keeping vigil by Snape's corpse. Suddenly Snape's eyes opened, blazing with pain and rage. As she stood frozen, he somehow lurched to his feet and staggered toward her, blood pouring fresh from Nagini's bite, his hands outstretched. "You could have helped me," he whispered, and all she could do was close her eyes and wait for his fingers to close around her neck. She would wake up then, shaking, telling herself Snape's death wasn't her fault, she hadn't been neglectful, she hadn't been cowardly, that it would have been far too dangerous for them to bring Snape's body back the night of the battle.

No over-the-counter potion could dull those dreams.

In growing desperation Hermione visited Madam Pomfrey, who took one look at her haunted eyes and arranged an appointment with a healer at St. Mungo's. "You're not the only one who's needed it," she'd said gently. "Not after such a trauma." Still, Hermione told no one—not Harry, not even Ron—that she Apparated to St. Mungo's every other day, where a silver-haired healer named Trickett subjected her to a gentle, utterly merciless treatment of Pensieving, Analyzing, and Compartmentalizing.

Then came a new dream: so bizarre Hermione couldn't bring herself to mention it, couldn't bear the thought of exposing it in the Pensieve. But nothing much got past Healer Trickett. At length, groping for the words, Hermione found herself describing the damp, stony space, the dark air thick with brooding horror . . . and the body stretched out on a slab. Snape's body, she knew. But nearby stood a cloaked figure, and for some reason that terrified Hermione far more than the corpse.

"Did you recognize the figure?" said Trickett.

Hermione shook her head.

"Was it a Death Eater? Or a Dementor?" Trickett kept her voice even, matter-of-fact.

"No!" Hermione almost flung the word. "I don't know." But she remembered every moment of what came next: the figure raising both hands; a sickly greenish glow that flared, faded, flared; the light crawling over and around Snape's body like a living thing. She could only watch, frozen, as Snape convulsed again and again, his face a rictus of agony. Then the cloaked figure somehow sensed her. It whirled toward Hermione, a bolt of green lightning erupting from an outstretched hand, and Hermione reached for a wand that wasn't there. She'd awoken with a muffled scream and spent the rest of the night sitting up, hands clasped around her knees, her bedside lamp a-blaze until well after sunrise.

"Monsters," said Trickett, her sharp gaze compassionate, "must be named and put in their proper place. So we have more work to do. But meantime, I'll prescribe a potion of my own to help you get some rest."

For several days Hermione had no dreams she could remember. But last night the potion had failed. She'd dreamt of standing amongst a grove of slender trees, each of them pulsing with a vivid glow: red, blue, green, violet, gold. They were beautiful, yet something about them struck her as sad. Wrong. She heard a soft sound and turned to see Snape. He stood a few feet away, wearing a calf-length black coat. Hermione saw no sign of Nagini's wound as he walked toward her, yet his expression was tight with agony. She closed her eyes, terrified to face him even as a deep, strange yearning shook her to the core. She heard Snape whisper, "Help me. She has taken my soul." Then warm fingers cupped her face; warm breath stirred her hair. She tilted her face up, her mouth opening to his . . . and then awoken with her arms wrapped around herself, her face streaked with tears.

That was the worst dream of all—not because it terrified her, but because it left her with a sadness, a yearning for something she couldn't name or even understand.

The door slammed open, startling Hermione out of her thoughts. The kitchen filled with Weasleys: Molly and Arthur and Ron, back from Diagon Alley, loaded with enough supplies to feed a troupe of Aurors. As Arthur tenderly helped Molly off with her coat and gave her right arm a squeeze, Hermione started to get up.

"Can I help you put anything away?"

"Absolutely not, dear," said Molly a bit too briskly. "Relax! I'll make tea." She waved her wand. As the kettle began to sing, shopping bags disgorged an assortment of vegetables, bread, and sausages. Wheeling into the pantry like clumsy birds, the items tried to jockey for space on already stuffed shelves. A bunch of carrots skirmishing with a cabbage brought a quick, faint smile to Hermione's lips.

At that moment, Ron caught her eye and his face lit up. Moving behind her, he laid a protective hand on each of her shoulders. The gesture felt heavy and paternal, like that of a Victorian father. She resisted the urge to squirm away.

"You all right?" he said softly.

He was such a good friend, though she didn't deserve it. Her eyes filled with tears. "Yes," she whispered.

Ron kissed the top of her head. "We'll be fine, you and me, yeah? I promise."

She nodded. Looking down at her tightly interlocked fingers, she forced herself to relax them, one by one.

* * *

 **Author's Note:**

This story is finished! A new chapter will be uploaded weekly.

I gratefully acknowledge that J.K. Rowling owns all the main characters and the Harry Potterverse. I also want to acknowledge "ianthe_waiting" for a prompt (in the LiveJournal SS-HG Gift Exchange in 2010) that inspired this story. Last but not least, warmest thanks to my RL writing group for their staunch encouragement and invaluable critiques! If any canon errors have slipped in, they are wholly my responsibility. (EWE: Epilogue? What Epilogue?)


	2. Chapter 1--Never stray from the pathways

**Chapter One: "Never stray from the pathways"**

Hagrid looked around the small circle of seventh-year students, gauging their mood. In the ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the last culling of Death Eater encampments after their leader's death, the Forbidden Forest had been a quiet place. Which probably explained why one or two students looked nonchalant, as if they had much better things to do than spend three days and two nights surrounded by dark, twisted trees, seeing very little sunlight, and encountering a few of what Hagrid liked to call "the denizens." But most faces looked tense or a little scared—a mood Hagrid endorsed. Though he and Firenze had taken care to ensure the students would be in no real danger during this first-ever overnight field trip into the heart of the Forest, he was never one to discourage constant vigilance, as poor old Moody used to say.

"All righ' then?" he said heartily.

Everyone nodded.

"Yeh need ter stay with me, stick together, and remember everything I've told yeh." The Care of Magical Creatures professor bent his massive, grey-bearded head toward the seventh-years and tried to look stern. "What's the _one_ thing yeh mustn't ever forget?"

"Never stray from the pathways," said Diana Fawcett, her voice clear and steady, and Hagrid gave her an approving nod. She was proving to be an excellent choice for Head Girl. He knew he could rely on her.

"If you stray, you _will_ get lost," said Firenze, his white-blond head uplifted, left front hoof pawing the ground eagerly. Though it was now several years since the other centaurs had accepted him back to the clan, his responsibilities to Hogwarts made it difficult for him to visit as often as he'd have liked. "Before the Battle of Hogwarts," added the Divination teacher, "getting lost in this Forest had dangerous consequences."

"But now it's safe," said another student. "Right? Or we wouldn't be here."

It took Hagrid a moment to recall her name: Wendy Chow. A bit flighty.

Firenze's blue eyes glinted in the dim Forest light. "For the most part. But never forget that some creatures in this Forest are still quite powerful. If you should encounter them—" at that, a couple of the young men nudged each other "—they will offer you, shall we say, a _challenge_." Wendy swallowed, and the centaur gave her a frosty smile. "Isn't that, after all, why you're here?"

The students nodded, some with more enthusiasm than others.

"As long yeh act respectful ter the trees an' other denizens and stay on the planned route, yeh have nuthin' ter fear from anythin' livin' in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid added robustly. Then he clapped his hands together, beaming at the ten young people. "All righ'? Ready?"

The students exchanged nervous smiles. A few cheered feebly and clapped their wands together. Then the small party moved into the heart of the Forest—Hagrid at the front, followed by the students in twos, and Firenze a few stately paces behind the last pair: Diana and her least favourite person, Terry Brar, self-styled Quidditch champion of all time.

Terry looked over his shoulder to make sure Firenze was out of earshot. "Challenging?" he muttered. "What balls. All the really cool creatures've been gone for what—ten years at least. Like the giant spiders. What's left?"

Diana glared at him. "Haven't you listened to a single thing in class?" she said in a fierce whisper. "There are _still_ spiders. And giants. And not all the centaurs are like Professor Firenze. Most dislike humans. A few actually hate them. And—" She flicked a glance at the branches arcing above them. "Apparently some of the trees are _very_ odd."

Come to think of it, it _was_ quite dark amongst those thick trunks. But no way was he going to let Diana get to him. She was a prig. Which was a shame because otherwise she was really fit.

"Balls," he said again. "Scary stories for kids. All we'll get out of this is a boring stroll."

Diana rounded on him. "If you stepped off this pathway, you wouldn't last a minute."

"Crap."

"You'll howl for Hagrid as soon as you run into a bit of Creeping Ivy."

"That would be _you_ , Fawcett."

"Oh, drop dead, Brar."

What a pill, Diana thought with disgust. He thought he was Merlin's gift to wizard-kind because he was Hogwarts' star Seeker. But Diana could outrun and out-duel him, which (she suspected) was one reason why he was scowling and slashing at bushes with his wand, as if it were a machete and this were the Amazon.

Not only Head Girl but one of Hogwarts' best duellists, Diana had strongly supported Hagrid's idea of an advanced field trip for Hogwarts' top seventh-years. Only ten students were selected for what Hagrid had promised would be a challenging experience hiking and camping in parts of the Forbidden Forest never before visited by outsiders. Best of all, because Hagrid had also persuaded Firenze to work with him, the centaur had arranged for some of his Forest acquaintances to stage mock surprise attacks to test the students' duelling and defensive skills. Tall, bronze-skinned, strongly built, and already a formidable witch, Diana couldn't have been more in her element.

This field trip was going to be _brilliant_. . . assuming she could get past having Terry as her partner. They had to watch each other's backs; that was the deal. Hopefully he wouldn't do anything really stupid.

The path narrowed to single-file width. Diana, now in front of Terry, threw a defiant look at the thickening growth overhead. Was it her imagination, or were some of the branches reaching toward them?

The path curved sharply to the right. For a moment she couldn't see Hagrid or the other students up ahead, nor Firenze behind.

"Hey, Fawcett!" Terry whispered behind her. As Diana turned with an impatient sigh, Terry gave her his most dazzling Quidditch-star smile and leapt off the path. "You're too scared to follow me, aren't you?" he taunted. She lunged toward him to grab his arm, but with a laugh he plunged into the bush beneath the lowering branches, straight into the black heart of the wood.

For a second Diana stared after him in shock. Then she screamed, "Help! Professor Firenze!" _Oh my god—I dared him to do this!_ She heard a great thundering of hooves, felt a rush of wind as the centaur sailed off the path, and then she was moving too, running straight after Terry and Firenze into the heart of the Forbidden Forest, her wand out and ready. She dimly heard shouting behind, Hagrid's voice raised in a bellow.

Diana knew she was breaking the rules. But she had to because she was Terry's partner and she'd promised to watch his back. Even though she hated him.

Was Professor Firenze still in front? Beside her? Diana couldn't tell, but she kept pushing into the tangled darkness, calling for Terry, until at last she had to slow down. The bush was too tangled to run through. Even the air felt thick; she could no longer hear any sounds behind her. And it was so _dark_. " _Lumos!_ " she gasped, but only the faintest light sputtered from her wand-tip. She turned around and around, trying to see signs of where she'd come from, but there was no path, and though she strained to listen, there were no voices. No sounds at all.

Then she saw dim light ahead. Stumbling toward it, she emerged in a roughly circular clearing about the size of the Gryffindor common room. The trees pressing around were so tall, their tangled black branches so dense, that she couldn't see their tops—only a misty light far above, struggling to reach the twilit Forest floor. All was utterly still. Diana found it hard to breathe, as if she'd blundered into a mass of dead, still air.

One great oak compelled her, as if it were sending out a silent call. Its girth was tremendous—twenty Hagrids could have joined hands around it. From its base a black hollow gaped at her, half-hidden behind roots that long ago had grown up and out of the ground like the legs of a spider. Diana walked toward that hollow, her wand out, the light of her Lumos spell flickering dimly at its tip.

Then she saw Terry, sprawled face down on the lip of the hollow.

At that moment, Diana knew that some _thing_ inside that hollow was watching her: cold, merciless, and hungry. An instinct older than thought leapt through her like summer lightning—run, _run_! She had never felt real fear in her life, but now terror took her and she turned, stumbling on tree roots, her mouth opening to scream, to breathe. It took enormous effort just to take one step, and then another . . .

A tremendous force yanked at her, pulling her up short, holding her rigid. Her wand tumbled from her hand, and its faint light died.

Unable to move, Diana heard a sound from behind her—footsteps. They came closer. A tall, black-cloaked figure moved around to face her, arms folded across its chest. A black hood hid most of the face, except for the tip of a sharp nose and a thin, brutal mouth.

"I'm going to put you to sleep," the figure said after a moment. His voice was soft, rich, almost velvety. "It's easier that way." He stretched out a pale hand and touched the top of her head. A warm, soothing sensation crept over her, as if she were being wrapped by her mother in a soft eiderdown. A moment later a wild wind arose, whirling up cones of dirt, lashing branches into a frenzy, and pushing her slowly backward toward the hollow of the ancient oak. But it didn't matter. She was safe, and she felt no fear.

"Sleep," said the man, and as her eyes grew heavy she thought she heard him whisper, _That is all I can do for you_.

A gust of wind whipped the man's hood away from his face. He yanked it back, but not before she saw every feature, pale against the growing darkness. It couldn't be; it was impossible, yet she knew that face; everyone knew it. Among the portraits of heroic witches and wizards who had lost their lives to Voldemort or his followers, this one had always stood out, and not pleasantly. It looked a lot more evil than heroic.

The shock hurled Diana out of the spell of sleep and into nightmare. As bitter wind slashed her skin and darkness clawed her, she had just enough strength to give a last despairing scream before the giant oak tree pulled her into its maw.

* * *

"Not since Tom Riddle died have we had even the slightest trouble. And now—two students at once! And not just any two. Our very best." As Minerva McGonagall paced back and forth in her office, the portrait hanging near the fireplace stroked its beard and looked at her with compassion.

At length the portrait asked, "And there have been no recent incidents like this in the Forbidden Forest?"

"None!" Minerva burst out. "Or I would never, ever have allowed this excursion to go ahead."

The portrait of Albus Dumbledore shook its head, half-moon glasses twinkling in the soft light. "I remember some mention of disappearances. But those were centuries ago."

Minerva stopped pacing and stared at the portrait. "What can you tell me?"

The portrait smiled gently. "Little, I'm afraid. I did study arcane magic, but I concentrated on objects. I didn't have much occasion to focus on creatures, plants, or their life paths—topics that would probably be more relevant in this case." The portrait fell silent as Minerva resumed her pacing. "But," said Dumbledore after a long moment, "if it's research you need, or even a discreet investigation, I may have a suggestion."

"Albus, there is no such thing as a 'discreet investigation' in this case. I want no one from outside Hogwarts involved, full stop. Not until or unless we absolutely must. Hagrid and his parties have two more days to search. If they're found by then—" she took an uneven breath "—we may yet be able to contain this."

"Until a year or so ago," said the portrait as if she hadn't spoken, "you were updating me regularly about a certain former student. You expressed considerable pride in her career, which I believe involved the analysis of arcane, ancient, or otherwise rare magical problems that, as you put it once—'would challenge the most adept.'"

Minerva stopped in mid-pace and looked at Dumbledore incredulously. "Are you suggesting I ask Hermione Weasley for help?"

"Why not? Does she lack the magical expertise? Would she be indiscreet?"

"No, but . . . Albus—it's simply not an option." She spread her hands. "For one thing, she would never agree to come."

"Why?"

With a tired sigh, Minerva sat down in a chair by the fireplace and considered the portrait. After a moment, she said, "She and Ronald Weasley have separated. Or more accurately, she left him, and he took the separation bitterly. I have neither seen nor spoken with her since—but only because she hasn't contacted me," she added quickly.

A brief silence fell. The fire crackled.

"I'm most sorry to hear that," said Dumbledore's portrait at last. "And with Mr Weasley's having recently stepped into Madam Hooch's position, I can see possibilities for awkwardness. Nonetheless—"

"To add another complication," Minerva interrupted, "Last week Professor Sinistra fell ill, and I asked Mr Weasley to serve temporarily in her position as Head of Gryffindor House. Both the missing students are in Gryffindor; the best often are," she couldn't help adding with a touch of pride, "which means Mr Weasley has been on the forefront of the search. It also means his ex-wife will not, under any circumstances, be able to avoid an interview with him."

"Ah," said the portrait, nodding in sympathy. "That _will_ make things a bit more difficult for Miss Granger on her arrival. And for you as well."

" _If_ I agree to call her in," said Minerva sharply.

"If," said Dumbledore.

* * *

Hagrid wiped his forehead and called Fang the Second to his side. He, Firenze, Ron Weasley, and a phalanx of Hogwarts staff members had been combing the Forest for over a day now—and still not a trace of poor Miss Fawcett or Terence Brar.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so low, so hopeless. After the abrupt shock of the disappearances yesterday morning, he and Firenze had taken turns searching the area and guarding the eight remaining students. They had found nothing. At last, after deciding it was most important to get their dismayed group safely back to Hogwarts, the two had reported the grim news to the headmistress. Firenze had looked thunderous; Hagrid had wept and vowed not to rest until he found the students, after which he would resign his position. Minerva, all at once looking her true age, had accepted Hagrid's first offer but not his second. "Recruit all the staff you need for the search," she'd insisted, "but don't involve any outsiders. Not from Hogsmeade. Not from the Ministry. _No one_."

But how much longer could they keep this quiet? The students' parents knew that the field trip was supposed to end tomorrow; they would be expecting owl posts from their offspring the following day at the latest. And still no trace. No sign. Nothing.

Suddenly Fang the Second jerked away from Hagrid's hand and plunged from the path. Barking madly, he made a beeline for a nearby cluster of sinister looking oaks.

"Fang! Get back 'ere!" But the huge dog kept going. What the devil was attracting him? They were nowhere near where the disappearances had occurred. Cursing, Hagrid ploughed after Fang.

When he finally caught up to the mastiff just inside the oak grove, the great dog was crouching, almost cringing, and making high-pitched whining noises.

"What? What is it?" Trying to soothe the dog, Hagrid peered around. The grove was dim; the trees grew so closely together that very little sunlight filtered through their densely leaved, tangled limbs. But Fang's attention seemed riveted to one particular oak, exceptionally gnarled and as thick around the truck as a small house. Other than that, nothing about it looked unusual. Hagrid frowned.

"If yer chasin' after some squirrel . . ." he said heavily. But he went up to the oak nonetheless, for he felt certain that Fang the Second (who had a sweet, sanguine temperament for such a fierce looking creature) would not react so dramatically to an ordinary Forest tree or creature. He touched the bark, looked up at the dark leaves and twisted branches, and with a sigh, began to walk around the trunk. As he reached the other side he felt a strange shiver, as if the very air had shifted. Then he saw that the trunk was hollow—a black cavity even larger than the one under the Whomping Willow. But that wasn't what made Hagrid stop, gape, and then give a great shout.

Just inside the hollow lay the limp bodies of Diana Fawcett and Terry Brar.


	3. Chapter 2--Something foul

**Chapter Two: "Something foul"**

"It was good of you to come," said Minerva for at least the third time to her famous ex-student. "Especially on such short notice. I can only imagine how busy you must be, with Muggle Affairs being such a new department." The headmistress was grateful she had arranged for this arrival to coincide with a class period, when almost no one was likely to see the famous Hermione Granger being bustled through the Great Hall and up the staircase to the second floor. Nor would Hagrid have seen her outside Hogwarts' gates, for he had been searching the Forest almost continuously since yesterday's horrific disappearances.

"It's good to be here," said Hermione as Minerva ushered her into the headmistress's office. "I told Arthur I needed some research time." She gave a wan smile. "Hogwarts' library is still one of my favourite places."

Minerva closed her door and directed Hermione to one of the two armchairs by the fire. She still appreciated the comfort of working out of her old office. On the heels of her reluctant agreement after the Battle of Hogwarts to serve as headmistress, she had almost immediately closed the Headmaster's Tower: taking only the Pensieve, essential records, and Dumbledore's portrait, which hung over one of the two fireside chairs. Minerva liked to steer difficult visitors to that chair. Besides finding it useful to keep an eye on her old friend's portrait, she enjoyed seeing his reactions—particularly to difficult parents, the numbers of which had been increasing of late.

But it had been quite some time since she'd sought the portrait's advice. In Minerva's experience, the insights of the deceased became more nostalgic and less practical with the passing years.

The portrait was asleep, but Hermione gave it a brief, affectionate smile before taking the chair beneath it. Sensing a friendly presence, the chair gave a slight wiggle as if inviting the visitor to make herself comfortable. Minerva, seating herself, pointed her wand at the tea tray sitting on the low, round table between them. Hermione stayed perched on the edge of her seat, hands clasped tightly on her knees, watching the teapot tilt and pour its contents into two delicate china cups. A lemon slice slid into each cup, while four thick pieces of golden pound cake on a silver plate arranged themselves into a perfect fan.

"That's hand-made—no magic at all," said Minerva, nodding at the cake. "Our chef occasionally cooks from scratch. He enjoys the challenge." With a polite smile Hermione picked up a piece and took a small bite.

"It's lovely," she said, and put the rest on her saucer.

Minerva decided it was time to be direct. "Ordinarily I would ask you how Molly Weasley is doing."

Hermione met her old teacher's mild gaze. "You've heard, then."

"Yet you work for Arthur."

Hermione lifted her shoulders. "He's been able to take things in his stride. And it helps that not all my work for the Ministry is in Muggle Affairs. I, erm, spend a lot of time away from my desk."

Minerva looked at her sharply, but Hermione's calm gaze gave no indication she was hiding something . . . that she might be doing other work for the Ministry. Yet the subdued, almost mousy woman in the visitor's chair bore little resemblance to the confident, brilliant young witch who had fought at Harry Potter's side. Four years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a grateful Wizarding world had giddily celebrated the lavish double wedding of their four greatest young heroes: Hermione to Ron, and Harry to Ginny. _Sometimes I think we Sort too soon_ , Albus's portrait had once remarked to her, and now Minerva wondered whether witches and wizards married too soon—bowing to the not-always-subtle pressures exerted by Wizarding society in the face of a continual population decline. It was ironic and yet, Minerva couldn't help thinking, lucky for Hermione that her five-year marriage to Ron had produced no children.

"I have a feeling," said Hermione, breaking into Minerva's thoughts "that you didn't invite me just for tea."

Minerva blinked. "You're quite right." She leaned forward, fixing the young woman's gaze with her own. "What I'm about to tell you must be kept confidential."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Of course." But after Minerva summarized yesterday's disturbing disappearances and the fact that no trace of the students had been found, Hermione frowned.

"That's terrible. But I'm not sure why you're telling me this. Why not call on the Ministry?"

"Calling on the Ministry is my last resort. That would open the floodgates for the worst kind of publicity." Minerva paused, then added quietly, "I'm telling you because I believe you can help us. More effectively and with much more discretion."

Hermione gave a nervous laugh. "You mean, like some sort of private investigator?" She spread her hands. "Headmistress, honestly—I'm not sure just how much help I can give."

"I won't put you in the position of divulging Ministry secrets." Minerva's tone was sharp. "But I know that new work is being done on defensive magic, and I know you're connected with this work. No need to ask me _how_ I know; I just do." She leaned forward. "We have a very small window of time. The field trip was originally scheduled to end tomorrow afternoon, and anxious parents will be looking for owls the next day. Ideally, the message will be that the trip was postponed. But if Diana Fawcett and Terence Brar have not been found by the time their parents are expecting to hear from them, I will have no choice but to break silence. And that, quite simply, could be disastrous for Hogwarts."

* * *

Hagrid's shout had quickly summoned Firenze and Ron. As the half-giant panted out his news, the centaur almost rearing with impatience beside him, Ron grabbed the half-giant's lapels.

"Where are they?" he shouted.

"The oak grove," Hagrid managed, and Ron boggled up at him.

"The _oak grove_? But I searched it myself this morning . . ."

"Well, they're there now. An' they need help."

Whirling away from Hagrid, Ron grabbed his Quidditch broom. "Show me."

Firenze turned, his forelegs pawing the air, and plunged into a full gallop while Hagrid, still wheezing from his earlier run, pounded after him. Ron glided and dipped above them on his broomstick until he could see the oak grove in the distance. "There?" he yelled down to Firenze, pointing. "Yes!" the centaur called back, tossing his head, and Ron pushed himself ahead at full speed. A minute later, he was circling the grove.

The branches were much too dense to penetrate from above, so he landed in a clearer patch outside the grove, propped his broomstick against the trunk of a stately pine, and jogged toward the oak trees. Though the early autumn day was warm and sunny, the air around him seemed to grow darker and chillier with each step he took. As he reached the grove's outer circle, a peculiar sensation of creeping danger pulled him up short. He knew, just knew, that ahead of him lurked a watcher, ancient and malevolent, invisible in the grove's deep gloom.

He'd been prepared to face anything, alive or dead, to get Diana and Terry back. He'd imagined horrors from renegade Death Eaters to Aragog's hideous children. But _this,_ this brooding evil . . .

Ron found himself backing up against a tree trunk, sweating, his breath coming in pants, while inside him a terrified twelve-year-old screamed— _Run! Run!_ "No fucking way," he gritted as he pulled his wand out. " _Protego Maximus_." A halo of golden light formed around his body, though the gloom around him seemed to reach out and suck greedily at its brilliance.

Firenze burst through the bush and skidded to a halt, his nostrils flaring. He was followed a moment later by a red-haired centaur who stopped so suddenly that he reared, forelegs slashing at the dim air.

"Faugh!" said Ronan, his face twisting with disgust. "Something foul has been here." Then he noticed Ron against the tree trunk and gave him an unfriendly glare. "Is that why you've called me, Firenze? Have your wizard friends been up to new mischief in this Forest?"

Firenze tossed his head. "Just come with me. Quickly." He slipped between the oaks, the whites of his eyes gleaming in the dim light. After a moment Ronan followed, giving Ron an unfriendly look as he passed. Taking a deep breath, Ron moved after him into the grove.

Shafts of sunlight made their way gently to the forest floor. Ron peered at the roots of the oldest, most gnarled oak, and for just a moment it seemed to him that shadows coalesced there, moving thickly. Then he blinked, and the darkness shrank away as if soaking into the earth. There was no sense of being watched; the entire grove radiated peace, as any wholesome forest should do on a fine day.

Firenze looked at Ron as if sensing his thoughts and nodded. "The grove is clear."

"Perhaps," said Ronan tightly. "But I don't trust it. Whatever we've come here to do, I say we do it now."

Behind them came thrashing sounds. Ron whirled, his wand at the ready, only to relax as Hagrid emerged, panting, into the grove.

"I saw 'em on t'other side of tha' tree," said Hagrid, pointing to the great, gnarled oak—the same direction from which the lurking threat had emanated. Ron gave himself no time to hesitate. Surging past the centaurs and rounding the great trunk, he almost tripped over the bodies of Terry Brar and Diana Fawcett. They lay face up, their eyes open but blank, registering nothing. Dropping to his knees, Ron checked them briskly. "Breathing, thank Merlin," he muttered. He gently patted their faces and called their names; when that failed, he pulled out his wand and muttered an awakening spell. Still nothing.

Ron looked up at Hagrid. "We've got to get them to the infirmary right away."

Hagrid nodded, stooped, and with great care, picked up Diana.

"I'll take the boy," said Firenze calmly. "Ronan—you must alert the Forest. I fear an old enemy has returned."

* * *

Minerva had stood up and begun pacing. "We're now considered an old-fashioned school, and we're up against fierce competition from newer institutions." Hermione nodded; it was an open secret that Draco Malfoy's upstart, the London Academy for Magic, had taken almost ten percent of Hogwarts' enrolments over the past few years. "Institutions," Minerva added, unable to keep bitterness out of her voice, "with a _spotless_ record for safety."

"So they claim," said Hermione.

As Minerva stared into the fire for a moment, Hermione couldn't resist shooting a glance up at Dumbledore's portrait. The eyes were still closed; no help there. She exhaled sharply, like a runner warming up. "Right. Well, perhaps if I can see where the students disappeared, I may be able to find something, even very small, that your searchers wouldn't necessarily have known to look for."

"Thank you," said Minerva with evident relief. She began to lever herself to her feet. "I'll call for Hagrid. He and Firenze will escort you and—" she gave Hermione a level look "—make sure you're well out of the Forest well before nightfall."

Running footsteps sounded from the hallway outside. Suddenly Minerva's office door shook under several heavy thuds, and a shout came through the thick panels—"We've found 'em!"

Hope flooding her face, Minerva cried, "Come in!" and Hagrid entered, panting, his bulk filling half the room. Hermione rose to her feet, but at that moment the half-giant had eyes only for the headmistress.

"Found both of 'em. They're alive. We've brought 'em ter th' infirmary."

"Are they hurt?" said Minerva sharply.

Hagrid shook his head, his expression darkening. "No wounds. No blood. They're breathin' an' their eyes'r open, but they won' speak. It's like they're not really _here_." He shrugged. "Poppy's not seen anything like it, she says."

As Minerva's shoulders sagged, Hagrid noticed the visitor. His grim face split into a wide grin.

"Ah—'Ermione." He spread his massive arms and caught her in a hug. "Good ter see yeh. I jus' wish it was happier circumstances."

"Me too, Hagrid." She disentangled herself, unable to help smiling as well.

"Dunno as I'll have time ter give yeh any tea and rock cakes."

"That's all right."

Minerva cut in. "Ms Granger. If you have time, it would be helpful for you to come to the infirmary." At Hagrid's puzzled look the headmistress added, "To observe. She may notice something beyond Madam Pomfrey's expertise." As she steered Hermione out the door, she said over her shoulder, "Hagrid, could you cancel the search and secure the grounds—as discreetly as you can, please."

"Consider it done," he rumbled, holding the office door open for the two women.

Minerva strode with surprising quickness down the torch-lit corridor; Hermione had to hurry to keep up with her. Portraits eyed their rapid passage with varying degrees of curiosity, but otherwise the two women saw almost no one; at this time of the afternoon, most students were in class or study hall. Hogwarts' professors had, at Minerva's strict instructions, turned themselves almost inside out to ensure that even as they put their spare time into the search, they leaked not a word about the disappearances. If Hermione hadn't known better, it would have seemed to her that Hogwarts was humming along, untroubled.

"I understand that recently, incidents of Dark Magic have been increasing," said Minerva in a low voice. "Is that true?"

Hermione threw her a startled look. "There have been rumours," she said after a moment. At Minerva's arch look she added, as casually as she could, "But of course the Ministry thoroughly investigates every report."

"Would it be too fanciful to imagine," said Minerva after a moment, "that someone with your talents might be in the forefront of investigating such incidents?"

"The Ministry would normally use Aurors for field work," said Hermione.

Minerva lowered her voice still more even as she quickened her steps. "As I said before, I understand there are things you cannot disclose. Officially. But if anything about my students' situation matches anything that has crossed your desk, and I do mean _anything_ , no matter how small the detail—I trust you will do the right and necessary thing."

"I will do," said Hermione, "the very best I can."

A tense silence fell as the door to the infirmary loomed up before them.

* * *

At first Ron had felt overwhelming relief that his seventh-years were alive. But the longer Poppy Pomfrey examined them and the deeper her frown grew, the more Ron sensed that Diana and Terry were far from all right. Especially Diana. She was dead pale, absolutely still, yet muttering indistinct words. Then she said something Ron understood—yet it made no sense.

"Black . . . black man."

Ron made a move as if to approach the bed, but Madam Pomfrey gave him a quick, repressive look. Then she leaned over the patient and said in a soft, soothing voice, "Diana? Diana? Can you hear me?"

"It was him," the girl muttered, then gave a great shudder. " _Him_! In the portrait!"

"Portrait?" said Ron. "What does _that_ mean?" He threw a glance at the second bed, but Terry Brar still lay as if dead.

Poppy chose to ignore Ron's question. "Diana? Can you hear me? You're safe now. You're safe."

The young woman shuddered again, tears gathering under her eyelids. "No no no no no _no_ ..."

The main doors at the far end of the infirmary opened, and Ron heard footsteps approaching. "Wait out here for just a moment," came the headmistress's voice as if she were speaking to someone else. A moment later the curtains separating the two unconscious students from the rest of the infirmary billowed apart, and Minerva entered the isolation area.

"How is she?" The headmistress kept her voice low.

Poppy shook her head. "I'm not sure, Headmistress. Diana started speaking two or three minutes ago, but she's not fully conscious. Nothing makes sense."

Minerva moved toward Diana's bed. "Have you found any signs of injury?"

Poppy shook her head. "Nothing I recognize. I've checked for all known spells and poisons. As far as I can tell, the children are in some sort of coma, but I have no idea what's causing it."

"It was _him_ ," Diana moaned, her head turning from side to side. Poppy extended her wand and murmured a calming spell, and the girl's head stilled. Minerva, frowning, leaned closer to the bed.

"Perhaps Miss Fawcett is trying to tell us who did this to her."

"I hope she'll be able to, and soon," said Poppy grimly. "But I've reached the limits of what I can do alone. Minerva, you must call in a healer."

Ron had seated himself a few feet away. Now he surged to his feet. "Is that a healer you've brought? I heard you asking someone to wait outside." He made as if to open the curtains, but Minerva raised a hand sharply to stop him.

"I have invited an expert in obscure and dangerous magic. Someone who can operate under complete confidentiality."

"From St. Mungo's?" said Poppy.

Minerva gave them a cool, level look. "From the Ministry. But in an unofficial capacity." Then she raised her voice slightly.

"Could you come in, please?"

The curtain opened slightly, and Minerva's Ministry unofficial expert stepped into the isolation area. Raising her chin, she nodded to Poppy, who took a deep, surprised breath and said—"Good gracious heavens." Then Hermione looked at her ex-husband, who was standing stock-still, his mouth open in shock.

"Hullo, Ron."


	4. Chapter 3--Interdiction

**Chapter Three: "** _ **Interdiction**_ **"**

"You." Ron Weasley's voice sounded strangled. He cleared his throat. "What the bloody—" He stopped himself as he caught Minerva's quelling look. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I invited her," said Minerva McGonagall, in a tone that brooked no argument. "I believe her expertise will be useful."

"Expertise." Ron repeated. He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "The last I heard, her _expertise_ —" he stressed the word heavily—"was in experimental magic." He whirled to Hermione, his voice low and fierce. "Is that why you're here? Another experiment?"

Hermione flushed dull red. Poppy leaned close to Minerva and whispered, "This isn't going at all well."

"Mr Weasley," said Minerva quietly. "I know this isn't easy for either of you, and I apologize for that. But I have asked her to attend for good reason."

"Headmistress, I don't mean to be disrespectful," said Ron tightly, "but Madam Pomfrey's done what she can. Now we need a genuine healer."

Without a word, Hermione pushed past her ex-husband and moved to the head of Diana's bed. Ron shifted as if to protest, but Minerva put a firm hand on his arm. Hermione took out her wand, and with a glance at Poppy for permission, rested her other hand on the girl's close-cropped, tightly curled black hair. Then with her wand tip, Hermione began to trace intricate, hypnotic patterns in the air above the girl's bed. After a moment she began a soft, wordless singsong. As if coaxed by her voices, strings of multicoloured, intricately connected lines unfurled from the wand: looping, thickening, coalescing into dazzling patterns.

Hermione stopped chanting and lowered her wand. Above Diana's bed, an aurora borealis of all imaginable shades shimmered and danced.

The three observers boggled.

"Madam Pomfrey, could you please come and stand beside me?" said Hermione. Eyes wide, Poppy obeyed. Hermione tapped the aurora, and a thick red line and a parallel blue line rose above the rest, two colours intertwined together through the tapestry.

"This is Diana's Life Map," said Hermione.

Ron frowned. "Her—what?"

"Life Map," said Poppy unexpectedly. "I recognize this. It's Australian. Aborigine, and very powerful. It enables the practitioner to see the patient's entire integrated life: body, feelings, intellect—" she took a deep breath "—and soul, all shaped by time and circumstance. A living journey." Poppy looked at Hermione, eyebrows raised. "I saw it demonstrated at St. Mungo's just a few months ago. But I didn't see you there."

"The Ministry asked for a private demonstration," said Hermione.

"How's this going to help?" said Ron, frowning.

Poppy pointed to Diana's glowing Life Map. "Look. See this network of red and orange lines?"

"Yes," said Minerva, leaning forward, her eyes narrowing. "Like a river and its tributaries."

"That represents our physical state," said Poppy, "if I remember correctly." Then her brows drew together, and she pointed to a jagged slice of blackness, an abyss into which the brilliant aurora seemed to fall. "How strange. See? Her life path just—ends. That would mean . . ."

"Is she dying?" Ron's voice sounded strangled.

"Look there," said Hermione. She pointed to several strands of light twisting out the other side of the abyss. Unlike the brilliant aurora, these strands flickered dimly, shot through with darkness. The farther the strands extended from the abyss, the thinner they became, as if the life was being drained from them even as they struggled to grow.

"Is that normal?" Ron said wildly to Poppy. "What does it mean?"

The nurse looked uncomfortable.

"It's as if," said Hermione softly, staring at the faint strands of light, "the life path went, or got pulled, somewhere else. And now it's struggling to return."

"So—they're in a coma," said Ron. "The question is, how? Who did this to them?"

"Or what," said Minerva.

Pomfrey shook her head. "No signs of head trauma or burst blood vessels."

Ron turned to Hermione. "Right. So this Life Map tells us—what, exactly? _How will this help her_?"

Hermione raised her chin. "It tells us what to look for, so we're not blindly trying spells that _won't_ help. From what I can tell—" and she gestured at the coloured skeins of light "something happened to Diana that goes beyond our understanding." Her voice hushed. "Where normal rules don't apply."

"Look," said Poppy, and the urgency in her voice brought them all to attention. She indicated a vibrant blue line interwoven with the red and orange—thick and glowing brightly. "If I'm correct, this line shows Diana's sense of awareness. Her mind." Hermione nodded, and Poppy picked out the same line on the other side of the abyss. Almost visibly the mind-line was unfurling, fading as it wandered toward the dark outer edges of the girl's Life Map.

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. "I've seen this before," she said in a low voice. "A few weeks ago, an Auror was attacked near Diagon Alley. She ended up in a coma, and we invoked her Life Map."

"We?" Ron interrupted.

Hermione shot him a quelling look. "The Ministry." She stabbed her finger at the fading blue line. "It means the mind is disconnected from the body. Lost, drifting away. We have to re-establish the connection, help the mind find its way back. Re-integrate."

"Or else we will lose her," said Poppy very softly. "Both of them."

"That Auror," said Ron. "What happened to her?"

Hermione gazed down at Diana. The girl's warm brown skin glowed serenely under the gently looping lines of light.

"Sweet Merlin," Ron said savagely. He swung toward Poppy. "Forget the Ministry. We need someone from St. Mungo's. _Now_."

"Sweet Merlin indeed," said Minerva, and something in her voice made them all turn.

Diana was sitting up, her hands clenched into fists in front of her and her eyes shut tight. Poppy gave a little scream and reached for the girl, but she batted the nurse's hands away. At the violence of her movement, the Life Map aura above the bed shattered into nothingness.

"Make him go away!" Diana whispered, her voice choked and hoarse as if unused for weeks.

"She spoke earlier," said Poppy. "Something about a man in a portrait." She laid her hands gently on Diana's shaking shoulders. "Lie back, dear. You're safe. You're at Hogwarts. No one will harm you."

Diana's fists beat against the blanket. "Make him go away!"

Hermione leaned in close to the girl, staring into the blank face, the clenched eyes. "Who?" she said gently, and Diana began shaking her head. "Can you tell me his name?"

Diana opened her mouth and gave a thin, whistling scream.

"Hermione—" Poppy began, putting out a hand. But Ron, freckles standing out against his pale face, leaned down, grasped his e-wife's arm, and yanked her away from Diana.

"Stop it. Stop interrogating her."

"Mr Weasley." Minerva stepped forward, her face grim.

"Shh. Shh!" Poppy was trying to soothe the girl, but the thin screaming wouldn't stop.

Hermione jerked her arm away from Ron. "Let me do my work," she said, her voice tight with rage. With a deep breath she turned to Poppy. "May I?" With a nod, Poppy stepped back from Diana.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, Hermione touched the girl's forehead with her wand. Diana stopped screaming and slumped back, breathing raggedly.

"Diana?" said Hermione softly. "Can you hear me?"

"Snape." Diana's voice was rough and cracked, as if she hadn't spoken in weeks.

"What?" Ron whispered. Hermione swallowed hard.

"Professor Snape," said the girl again. "He took me."

After a long and horrible silence, Minerva said in her gentlest voice, "Diana—Professor Snape died ten years ago."

"He took me to the grove. The glowing grove." said Diana, her voice thin. "Now _she_ wants me. She wants _all of us_ . . ." Her hands flew to her head as if trying to claw something from within her skull. "Stop pulling me! Stop—!"

Suddenly her mouth closed. Like a puppet without strings she flopped back down onto the bed.

With an alarmed look at Minerva, Poppy ran her wand over the still body.

"Comatose," she said. "Like Terry."

The four adults stared at each other. Poppy noticed Hermione holding herself very still, her lips pressed together into a white line.

"Are we supposed to believe," said Ron at last, "that she was kidnapped by a dead man?"

"Obviously, someone is passing himself off as Severus Snape," said Minerva grimly as Ron sat down, elbows on knees, his hands clutching his hair.

"What the bloody hell," he muttered, "am I going to tell their parents?"

* * *

"Severus Snape?" Hagrid stared down at Minerva. "Yer sure tha's wha' she said? Meanin' no disrespect," he added hastily.

"It was Snape. She said it clearly. We all heard it." Minerva gazed down at the smooth, polished surface of her desk. A distorted reflection of her face looked back.

"Hagrid, you know the Forbidden Forest better than anyone except the centaurs. Do you think—" She laced her fingers together and looked up at the half-giant. "Assuming he survived that night, which is a large assumption indeed . . . could he have stayed hidden in the Forest for ten years? Completely undetected?"

Hagrid's bushy brows rose, and he blew out a long, thoughtful breath. "In tha' Forest, anything's possible. Anything can hide—or be hidden. I learned tha' lesson the hard way, back in th' day." He gave the ghost of a smile.

"But it makes no sense," said Minerva fiercely. "Even if Severus were still alive, why hide in the Forest? And why kidnap children?"

In the silence, Hagrid shifted from foot to foot.

Minerva pushed herself to her feet. "I think it's far more likely we're dealing with a very dangerous imposter. Perhaps a so-called Dark Magician—those loathsome successors to Tom Riddle."

"Dark Magic's jus' a rumour," said Hagrid uneasily.

"I'm not willing to take a chance on that." Raising her wand, Minerva turned to the wall opposite her desk. "Map!" she said crisply, and a great blackboard descended to cover the wall. In moments, lines of chalk emerged, curling and thickening into an exquisitely detailed scale drawing of Hogwarts and its grounds, including the Forbidden Forest. Except . . .

"Look!" Hagrid cried, pointing at the heart of the Forest. The trees were blurred, the lines distorted as if someone had smeared the chalk. As she stared at the distortion, Minerva felt her heart give a great, queasy thump.

"That settles it," she said, grateful her voice sounded firm. "I am imposing an Interdiction on the Forest. No one is to go near it until further notice—no one except you and the centaurs."

"Wait," said Hagrid. "Wha' abou' 'Ermione?"

"It's too dangerous. Even for her."

Hagrid sighed. "She won' take that well."

"It's my decision." Minerva faced the blackboard. " _Silvam ne intraveritis_!" she cried. White light shot from her wand and squirmed across the chalk drawing, then settled at last into a thin glowing line around the Forest border.

"Hide Map," said the headmistress. As the blackboard rose, she put her wand up her sleeve and sighed. "Now I must inform staff about the Interdiction. Using house-elves, I think. That would be least noticeable."

The Care of Magical Creatures professor frowned. "I'm seein' 'Ermione in the morning. I said I'd take 'er ter the oak grove."

"Please ask her to see me immediately after breakfast."

Hagrid bowed his head. "Righ'."

"Thank you, Hagrid. Goodnight."

Minerva drifted over to the fireplace and sank into her chair. She felt strangely tired; the Interdiction had been more difficult than she'd expected, almost as if something in the Forest's distorted heart had sensed her power . . . as if something were almost _pulling_ at her. She shivered, looking up at Dumbledore's portrait. It had appeared to be dozing, but now one bright blue eye opened, glinting at her with concern in the firelight.

"Are you all right, Minerva?"

She gave him a wan smile.

* * *

The old Potions classroom wasn't quite in ruins, but no student or professor had used it for a decade. Even the Slytherins, who liked to lord it over the dungeons and frighten first-years with tales about horrible creatures chained up in secret rooms, gave the area a wide berth. The house-elves had been told not to clean it, so cobwebs stretched between rusting cauldrons, and grime coated the blackboard, desks, and the cold stone floor. The room was cursed, some said, for every potions master from Snape on had died before their time in some mysterious or horrible fashion.

"Rubbish," said Poppy Pomfrey briskly whenever she had the chance to counter those tales. "Poor Horace Slughorn had a heart attack, and Evan Elfhaven slipped and fell whilst taking a walk—a tragic accident, yes, but very ordinary. As for Severus Snape . . ." here she would hesitate a fraction, "he died in the Battle of Hogwarts." And that was that, as far as she was concerned—except that Elfhaven never explained why he'd moved his office into an unused space adjacent to the front of the potions classroom. It was, admittedly, a bit disconcerting that Elfhaven had fallen to his death only a month after emptying and sealing up Snape's old office. (A close inspection of the corridor adjacent to the classroom revealed the ghostly outline of a door.) But Poppy discouraged any idle speculations.

Tonight, the old Potions classroom wasn't entirely empty. Hogwarts' newest house-elf knew very well she wasn't supposed to be in there, but one of the senior house-elves—Brisket, a terrible bully—had snatched away her red knit hat and claimed he'd hidden it in the cursed classroom. Tilly's late aunt had bequeathed her that hat, insisting it had been knitted by none other than Hermione Granger. Whether or not that was true, Tilly had to rescue the hat; she couldn't live with herself if she didn't. Which was why she had snuck in tonight, and why she was darting from table to table and peering under each one, the light in her shaking hand so dim she could barely see the floor. She certainly couldn't see the locked wooden door behind and to the right of the potions master's desk, leading to the office of the ill-fated Evan Elfhaven.

As Tilly worked her way toward the front of the room, a strange sound began to fill the air—a low, moaning whistle. She looked around frantically as the sound grew louder . . . and realized it was coming from behind the office door. From one heartbeat to the next the moaning rose to a scream, as if a savage wind were wreaking havoc behind that door. Tilly scrambled beneath a table, squeezing her eyes shut and wrapping her arms around her head.

At last the howling died away. With great caution, she opened her eyes to see a pale, greenish light flickering through the crack beneath the door. The light dimmed and brightened, as if someone with an unearthly torch were pacing back and forth. Then through the door came a strange voice. A woman's.

"Hurry. This gate will not stay open long."

Tilly had never heard a tone so rich and sweet—nor so utterly cold. She somehow felt that if the speaker knew she was nearby and could get to her, she would die. She shivered, longing to plug her ears against that voice. Yet she couldn't move.

A man spoke, the words almost too soft and low to hear. "I can go no faster. These must be handled with care."

"Are you testing my patience?" The woman's voice lashed like a whip.

"Are you distrusting my expertise?" he shot back.

"If I left you here, how long would you survive, I wonder?"

"That," said the man, and even Tilly heard the irony, "is a seriously tempting prospect."

The woman laughed, a cold sound that made Tilly shudder. "Much too easy for you." The house-elf heard the sound of slow steps, then the voice spoke again, the sweetness edged with venom. "You tried to return those two children _behind my back_."

"Their lives were too small," the man said roughly. "They were of no value to you."

" _Every_ life-force has value for me . . .so I retrieved them. I pulled them back to the grove. Wherever you sent their bodies—" that cold laughter again "—they'll wither away. They'll rot."

They spoke no more after that. Tilly heard more footsteps, the soft sounds of items being taken from shelves. Then the sickly light under the door suddenly pulsed bright. There was a rush of wind and the sound of a glass object shattering on the floor.

"The gate is no longer stable," the woman said tersely. "We must go."

"Of course," said the man, his voice heavy with an emotion too dark for Tilly to name. As the wind rose again to a scream, the house-elf cringed. The greenish glow flared, dimmed, flared: light and dark racing across the floor like moonlight through storm-whipped branches. The wind reached a crescendo, then cut off abruptly. The light vanished.

Darkness. Silence. For a long moment Tilly stayed frozen under the table. Then with a terrified yip she leapt to her feet and pelted for the classroom door. Slamming it shut behind her, she fled down the long stone corridor toward the warmly glowing safety of the kitchens, vowing to herself that she would never go back and never tell a soul what she had seen and heard. It was too impossible. Besides, she would be sacked for disobeying orders.

An hour later, still trembling and starting at every unexpected noise, Tilly found her hat. Brisket had hidden it in the breadbox.

— **-**

 **Note:  
** _Silvam ne intraveritis_ — Do not enter the forest _._

Thanks so much for reading! Chapter 5 will be posted July 16.


	5. Chapter 4--Into the woods

**Chapter Four: "Into the woods"**

Minerva McGongall sighed. She had forgotten how stubborn Hermione could be.

"I know it wasn't an easy choice for you to come here, Miss Granger. I deeply appreciate that you were willing to do so, and for trying to help Diana Fawcett. But the Forbidden Forest is off limits."

"Headmistress." The young woman took a deep breath. "You asked for my assistance. I can't do more without going there."

"I'm sorry. I believe it's too dangerous."

"You don't—" Hermione hesitated. "You don't think the danger is that, erm, Professor Snape could actually be alive. Do you?" Oddly, a flush darkened her face.

Minerva shook her head. "No. But I'm certain Miss Fawcett saw someone who wanted her to believe he was a dead man walking."

"That makes no sense."

"It does if your purpose is to sow terror. To send a message that Hogwarts and its environs are no longer safe."

"Dark Magicians."

"They may very well be the weapons. But who is responsible for wielding them? Who has a lively interest in seeing Hogwarts discredited?"

Her face paling, Hermione stared at Minerva. "You're not—you don't think—Draco Malfoy?"

Minerva sighed. "Horrible as it sounds, I believe it merits investigation." Suddenly she reached out and took Hermione's hands in both of hers. "Go back to the Ministry. Use whatever means you have, whatever contacts you can muster. That is how you can help."

"Contacts?" Hermione laughed bitterly. "I have a lot fewer than I used to. And means? Ron's spot on: no experiments or equations can tell me what the Forest can." She pulled her hands away. "Please let me go there. I'll take Hagrid and—and an _army_ of centaurs. Just a few hours. I'll be fine, I promise."

It was the first time in two days Minerva had seen such fire kindling in the young woman. With a touch of regret at having to quench it, the headmistress shook her head.

"Go back to the Ministry, Miss Granger. That is the best possible way you can help."

Hermione's brown eyes blazed, and for a moment Minerva wondered whether she might need to reinforce the request with her wand. Then the young woman dropped her gaze and stared at the floor, biting her lip.

"I'll do my best," Hermione said at last. She took a few steps toward the door, then paused, looking over her shoulder at the headmistress.

"Thank you for breakfast."

After Hermione left, Minerva sat down again almost painfully, her face drawn tight. She held herself still, pressing the tips of her fingers together. At last she took a blank sheet of paper, dipped a quill into ink and in a fine copperplate hand, wrote—

 _Dear Mr and Mrs Fawcett,_

 _I am sorry to inform you that your daughter Diana has fallen ill. I can assure you, however, that she is receiving all possible care from Madam Pomfrey. . ._

* * *

Hermione could, she supposed, have asked Professor McGonagall's permission to use the Restricted Section. But that request might have raised suspicion. Much easier to flash her Ministry pass at old Madam Pince, who after all these years still presided over Hogwarts' library, shield herself from the librarian's disapproving gaze behind a pile of books just as she had as a student, and then discreetly examine the only tome of real interest—the _Historica Silva Inconcessus_. And there it was, smack on page 411: a paragraph describing in a laconic, list-like fashion the unexplained disappearances of a giant, some centaurs, and several humans, including three Hogwarts students, all somewhere near the heart of the Forbidden Forest. And those were the known disappearances. Other Forest denizens had likely vanished as well.

But that wasn't the most horrible part. The next paragraph described the few who had somehow returned. One of the missing Hogwarts students, a boy of twelve, had been found wandering in the Forest near one of the ancient oaks. "Never again was he vital, he spoke not but cryed many times in feare before he dyed." A Squib barmaid from Hogsmeade had stumbled out of an oak grove "unable to speak nor recognise her kin."

Children. Squibs. Of course they couldn't defend themselves.

Then Hermione read what happened to a full-fledged wizard, and her mouth went dry: "Desiring to visit a Great Oak said to be the Centre of all Magick, he vanish'd and was gone for many Days. At last he was Found but Sore Distress'd and Raving, and the Life Ebb'd from him as if from one Curs'd, but no Curse was Discover'd."

 _Put your brilliant mind to work_ , she told herself sternly. _What do these disappearances have in common besides mindlessness, terror—and oaks?_ And why no mention of a "black man"? She sighed. Perhaps McGonagall was right: someone was resurrecting the terror of these old, unexplained disappearances to discredit Hogwarts. Yet if so, that someone had shown a truly inhuman lack of hesitation about maiming or killing children. Surely not even Draco Malfoy would go that far.

Nor did this explain why Diana had cried out the name of Severus Snape.

 _Unless she really did see him._

Without warning, a nightmare she had long ago Compartmentalized erupted in her mind: Snape dead on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. Snape opening his eyes, pushing himself to his feet, stumbling toward her through a pool of his own blood. Hermione clutched the edge of the table, shuddering. _I left him behind to die like an animal. Could he still be alive? Was he begging for my help . . . and I didn't hear?_

That thought was ghastly enough. She didn't need a worse one, but came it did. Snape had given Harry his memories—his essence. If he had somehow survived, what if nothing was left of the hero? Nothing but a husk, an empty mind that could be filled with anything? With hate and abuse? A hunger to destroy?

Hermione felt chilled to her bones.

 _I don't want to go into the Forest. I'm afraid of what I'll find there. But I must know the truth._

Grimly, Hermione began to search through another tome from the Restricted Section: a book of arcane magic. Hardly anyone knew these spells existed. Professor McGonagall might be an extremely powerful witch, but with a little research, any Interdiction could be defied.

* * *

Yesterday's mild weather had given way this morning to clouds, and drizzle chilled the mid-afternoon air. Hermione had dreaded running into her ex-husband while Hagrid walked her to Hogwarts' gates, but luck was with her; Ron was at the Quidditch pitch, now a restricted zone heavily ringed with wards.

Just outside the main gate, Hagrid turned to her and held out his massive hand. She took it gently, as if she were the one who might accidentally crush him.

"Will we see yeh again?"

"Of course. I'll come back for a visit when things are—more settled."

"Let me walk yeh ter Hogsmeade, 'Ermione. Yeh shouldn't go alone."

"I'll be all right." She patted her sleeve. "I can take care of myself. Honestly."

Hagrid just looked at her, his expression bleak, and that chilled her more than the coming rain. "We've had our share of hard times, haven't we? Times we almos' lost everything. But we had you three—er, tha' is—" he stopped, cleared his throat awkwardly. "Er, wha' I'm tryin' ter say is, because of you, we always made it through. An' we will again. Righ'?"

He stood there, looking down at her, his eyes begging her to say something reassuring, but she couldn't trust herself to speak. All she could do was squeeze his hand, but that seemed an odd, cold gesture, so she hugged him, just like old times. When they parted, the half-giant's eyes were watering. As she walked away, looking over her shoulder, he took out a handkerchief the size of a small tablecloth and blew his nose—a familiar, sentimental gesture that made a lump rise in her throat.

For another minute or so, Hermione walked briskly in the direction of Hogsmeade and its Apparition point. She looked over her shoulder every now and again to see Hagrid still there. Every so often he waved. At last she rounded the first sharp turn and could no longer see the towers of Hogwarts, its well-warded gates, or Hagrid. There she stopped. A craggy head of rock reared up to the left while bristly pines, gloomy and dank under the lowering sky, crowded up to the road on her right. She took out her wand. " _Radar_ ," she muttered, turning slowly in a circle. As her wand swept through the air, it created a webbing of green, glowing lines. No red dots, so the area within about two hundred yards was clear. Not even any ravens close by. She lowered her wand, and the glowing lines vanished.

Keeping her wand in her hand, Hermione ducked into the pine forest. She was no outdoors woman, but she had taken care to wear a thick brown hoody and stout walking shoes as well as bring a truly impressive array of camping supplies, thanks to the Extension Charm on her small grey rucksack. In the late afternoon gloom, her dull garb blended quickly into the shadows under the trees. From time to time she raised her wand to check her direction, while with her left hand she pushed bare, sharp twigs away from her face. After about half a mile, she reached a small clearing. She pushed her tangled hair back from her face, wiped her forehead, and raised her wand.

" _Absit Hoc a Me Ne_." With graceful movements, Hermione traced an intricate pattern in the air around and above her, as if she were conducting music only she could hear. Then with a sudden move she drew a quick, slashing line in the air. " _Aperio!_ "

For a long moment she stood utterly still as if listening. At last she took a deep breath and twirled, arms outstretched.

Air rushed to fill the empty space where she'd been standing.

* * *

The great oak had felt its life-force ebbing at the death of the Lord of all dark magic. Yet soon afterward a new, even greater force had pushed its way through the tree's dark fuse, an alien force that drove youth and strength relentlessly into shrivelled leaves and crooked twigs. Giving it desire. Appetite. When that band of foolish children and their misguided teachers had pranced by, thinking their puny magic would protect them, it had known what to do. Now the oak half-slept, the force like a sleeping warmth in its limbs, dimly aware of its lesser kin in the grove near the borders of the forest, the outer guardians. But until the force awoke it, it was simply an oak, more gnarled than most, even for its great age. Almost no light penetrated its leaves from above. Anyone brave enough to stand beneath it and look up would have seen only patterns of darkness shot through with a dying, disturbing glow.

The sound of a small thunderclap shattered the thick silence. Displaced air howled and dead leaves whirled up from the ground, startling two crows who had been roosting in a pine tree a respectful distance from the oak. They took wing, screaming furiously at being disturbed, then one tried to dive-bomb the young woman who had Apparated to the foot of the pine tree. Though a bit unsteady on her feet, she whirled her wand. Light spat from its tip, and the crow tumbled away into the murk.

Hermione took a shaky breath and stepped away from the pine tree.

"This isn't the oak grove," she breathed. "So why—?" Then she saw the great, gnarled tree. Instinctively her wand flew up in a defensive move. Crouching slightly, eyes narrowing, she took a few slow steps toward the oak.

"It's you, isn't it?" she murmured. "You're at the heart of this." With great caution she began to circle the tree, keeping her perimeter wide and her eye on the black, twisted trunk. The oak's girth was astonishing; it could have contained a small house. From that enormous base a black hollow gaped at her, half-hidden behind roots that long ago had grown up and out of the ground. They reminded Hermione of the legs of a spider, and despite herself, she shuddered. Yet she couldn't take her eyes off that hollow. She could imagine, almost see, what must have happened: how something about that great oak had somehow compelled first Terry, then Diana, as if it were sending out a silent call: _Come to me. Come and rest._

"Stop it," Hermione whispered. "You don't command me."

She circled step by step toward that hollow, her wand out, the Lumos light flickering dimly at its tip. Too dimly; she could barely see a thing. " _Lumos maximus_." Still the hollow seemed impenetrable. " _Protego_." The light took on a slightly silvery sheen, yet still the darkness at the heart of the oak seemed to swallow it. Closer, then. A little closer. Close enough to learn the truth. Not close enough to be harmed. She had years more experience and a great deal more strength than Diana or Terry. It would take a lot more than a bad oak tree with a murderous attitude to—

From one heartbeat to the next, some _thing_ inside that hollow awoke: cold, merciless, and hungry, lashing out like a striking snake. Hermione had felt real fear many times before, but never the kind of terror that took her at this moment, a terror that clubbed her to the ground as if she'd been struck by Petrificus Totalis. Her wand flew out of her hand, its light dying. Tree roots dug into her cheek as she opened her mouth to scream. But no sound came; she could barely breathe; it took enormous effort to gasp in one mouthful of air, and another . . . Then a tremendous force yanked at her, pulling her toward the black heart of the oak, and a bitter wind slashed at her face so painfully she felt her skin ripping apart. The world splintered into darkness scorched with a nauseating green glow, and she felt as if every atom in her body were being pulled apart.

Hermione had just enough strength to give a last despairing scream before the giant oak tree pulled her into its maw. Only the crows, their wings fluttering uneasily, saw how the darkness burst apart into pallid green light, whirling like water running down a drain, whirling at last into nothingness, into silence.

Until only blackness filled the oak's great hollow.

 **Note:**

 _Absit hoc a me ne—_ Do not forbid me

 _Aperio—_ Open (a wall)

Chapter 5, "The Man of Her Nightmares," will be posted Sunday July 23. Thanks for lunarose87, Jollydragon, Sevione, and Padme.G for your encouraging comments . . . and FrancineHibiscus, I promise your question will (eventually) be answered!


	6. Chapter 5--The man of her nightmares

**Chapter Five: "The man of her nightmares"**

Hermione Granger Weasley, once known as the brightest witch of her age, was used to complications. Her life had a tendency to take sharp bends. At eighteen, she'd become a newly minted hero of a New Age of Wizards: a hero haunted by nightmares of dead men crawling toward her. One dead man in particular; it had taken more than a year to exorcise the horror . . . and the guilt. At twenty she was married, and the Wizarding World waited breathlessly for the first Granger-Weasley offspring while her father-in-law proudly touted her as the great hope for the new and underrated Department of Muggle Affairs. Always at her side, her heroic husband—that adorable childhood sweetheart—grinned like a fiend with pride.

Officially reporting to Arthur Weasley, Hermione took charge of benevolent projects like discovering and recruiting more Muggle-born wizards and exploring possible links between magic and Muggle knowledge: from ancient lore to cutting-edge science. But she was also doing cutting-edge research for the Department of Mysteries: research so secret, so ringed with non-disclosure spells that she could tell no one—not even Ron. Yet as Hermione explored more deeply this new and arcane field of quantum magic, it became her overarching passion, then her escape from a marriage that never should have happened.

She should have known she was marrying not only Ron but every single one of his relations. That she couldn't possibly meet Molly Weasley's exacting standards of witchly wifehood. That she had no desire to produce a Weasley grandchild. And perhaps worst of all, that she'd gain a husband but lose one of her best friends.

After nine years, she wanted to be on her own.

Hermione's life had then taken another bend: from a cosy, warm cottage a stone's throw from The Burrow to a cold, tiny, under-furnished London flat. She hadn't lied to Minerva when she'd said her father-in-law took the separation in his stride. He remained professional, but made it clear the less he saw of her, the better. On the other hand, this state of affairs lessened her guilt about plunging even more deeply into the entrancing possibilities of quantum magic. Then Hermione's lab supervisor began bringing in Aurors to test these enhanced spells as countermeasures against the possibility of new threats more dire than anything the tattered remnants of Voldemort's Death Eaters could concoct. The work had taken on a new urgency, a dark quality that both repelled and strangely attracted her.

But it seemed she had miserably underestimated the power of the Forbidden Forest. She had thought she was ready, that she could defend herself. Instead she was falling or being pulled into the yawning dark at the roots of the ancient oak, as helpless as a leaf tumbled by a cold wind. This was orders of magnitude more horrible than her worst Apparition; even being Splinched wouldn't have felt as though her very atoms were being pulled apart. She could no more stop it than a lorry driver skidding down a steep icy road can stop going over the cliff's edge, than a wedding ring dropped in a tub can stop whirling down the drain. She couldn't even scream any more; it was as if she had no mouth for screaming, as if her substance were being pulled into thin strings across eons of time, leaving only her mind intact and in agony.

Then her body seemed to wrench itself back together, and she was rolling over and over on something hard and rough. She flung her hands out to stop her tumbling, clawing at what might have been small bushes or clumps of grass, until at last—oh sweet merciful Merlin—she was still, lying on her stomach on rough ground. With great care she moved her arms and legs a bit. Dimly amazed that nothing seemed broken, that her body felt intact, she opened her eyes. Immediately before her grew clumps of grey, spiny-looking grass. She raised her head—the world lurching as if her brain were still in free-fall—and squinted at a dim grey sky with no clouds, no features at all except a band of greenish yellow light at the horizon. Something about that sky made her uneasy, as if she were beneath the belly of a beast that might decide at any time to settle itself down. But the band of light was worse: alien and dreary, like a sunset from a nightmare, the light just strong enough to throw unsettling, spiky shadows. She turned away from it quickly and groped for her wand before she remembered it had flown from her hand.

All of her instincts for survival screamed that if the sun rose, she would see much worse than shadows. If it sank, she would be at the mercy of whatever moved through the dark in this alien, terrible place.

She had to find her wand.

Very slowly Hermione inched forward on her belly, trying not to groan as even that small movement made her brain roil and her stomach churn. Forward, forward, then without warning her groping hands found nothing but air. She froze, trembling, only inches away from a cliff's edge as sharp and straight as the cut of a saw through bone.

She had visited Manhattan with her parents the year before her wedding, and they had gone up to the top of the Empire State Building. The distance between the cliff top and the twisted forest below seemed at least double that height. The sickly yellowish light made it difficult to see what lay below, but she thought she could pick out the shapes of twisted trees. A tangled mass of them extended for what could have been miles until it ended abruptly at a flat plain, or perhaps it was a lake or ocean. Some kind of structure rose up far across that plain, something almost castle-like. She thought she could make out a tower from which a greenish light pulsed, as bleak and alien as the band of light on the horizon. Truth deeper than knowledge told her that she must not go anywhere near that place, whatever it was, even if she were somehow able to make it down the cliff.

Around her the sharp shadows of the grass shifted a little, even though there was no wind. It was as if something had breathed. Her skin crawled. Part of her wanted to leap up and flee from the cliff's edge, run until she dropped from exhaustion. But another part of her understood that if she moved too fast, something would focus its attention on her, a horror beyond her experience, and she wouldn't have the strength to fight it.

Still on her belly, Hermione backed away. Only when she had retreated many yards from the cliff's edge did she turn around, facing a rocky slope studded with trees that looked like bent, starving pines. She didn't want to look at those trees; their limbs reminded her too much of groping fingers, but Merlin willing, her wand lay somewhere between her and them.

Shaking like someone who had been ill for weeks, she raised herself to her hands and knees and began to crawl. It would have been faster to get up and walk, but crawling was safer.

Even with that slow movement dizziness gripped her again, and she tried not to groan as her stomach lurched in protest. It was as if her whole body rebelled against this place, wherever and whatever it was. Right now she didn't care; she just wanted to get out.

Hermione had been crawling for what seemed like an eternity when to her left, she glimpsed something in the long grey grass: a fleeting blackness that seemed to parallel her, moving with silent, liquid grace. She froze and turned her head to look, but saw only the grass. She resumed crawling, and a moment later the blackness flickered again in the corner of her eye.

"Have to find my wand," she mumbled. "Have." Left arm and right leg forward. "To." Right arm, left leg. "Find. My. Wand." Right arm and left leg. Left arm and . . . oh, oh. Something shone dully ahead of her through the spiky grass, something long and slender.

Hermione lunged toward it, her right hand reaching, reaching.

" _Don't_ touch that."

The familiarity of that voice shocked her to the core. She froze, her hand still outstretched. A slight movement behind, like the whisper of a cloak, then a pair of black boots stepped around in front of her. Sturdy and unlovely, they reached half-way up the black-trousered legs and were intricately laced. The boots stopped inches from Hermione's wand. A black-sleeved arm reached down, and a pale, long-fingered hand touched the wand.

"I can't let you use this," said that voice.

Unable to stop herself, Hermione looked up into the face in the portrait in the Hall of Heroes: the same bleak, black eyes, beaked nose, thin lips pulled down into a scowl. But this face looked older, more worn. Fine lines spidered under the eyes; two deep grooves bracketed his mouth. The jet hair didn't straggle around the shoulders but was tied back, exposing strands of iron grey at the temples.

"You're—not dead," she choked.

Snape ignored her, his focus entirely on her wand, his pale fingers closing around it. In that moment Hermione knew that this not-dead Snape was insane. His mind had been suborned by the same force that had taken her here, and he was now its servant, his thoughts and deeds as twisted and ugly as the tree-things that clung to the rocks nearby. He would break her wand, she knew, and then he would do to her what he had done to Diana and Terry. She would become just like them, her mind dimming, the bright pathways of her personality fading into darkness.

Hermione had no idea how she found the energy, but somehow she was lurching to her feet. Snape stepped back, his eyes widening with surprise or fury. As the wand fell to the ground, she flung up her right hand. " _Accio wand_!" Her wand leapt away from Snape but instead flew in the opposite direction, toward the rocks and the twisted pines. To her horror, their branches spread out toward the arcing wand with a dry whispering sound, as if eager to catch it.

"No! _Accio! ACCIO WAND_!"

" _Abscedo_!" cried Snape at almost the same time.

Go away? Hermione's whirling mind could make no sense of that. Yet her wand froze in mid-trajectory and reversed its course, arrowing straight back—to Snape. Even though he had no wand and his spell had commanded the opposite. As he caught her wand and pushed it up his left sleeve, she drew breath to protest.

He closed a hard hand around her upper arm.

"Your idiotic wand-waving won't work as you expect here, any more than your spells will." His voice was low, strung with tension. "Until I can trust you'll do nothing foolish, your wand stays in my care."

As another wave of dizziness swamped her, Snape grasped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. She tried not to flinch from his furious glare. "Listen to me. What in the name of all that's cursed are you doing here? Who brought you, and why?"

Hermione felt a thin astonishment. " _You_ did. Like the others. Through the oak tree."

His fingers tightened on her shoulders. That should have hurt, but if not for his hands she would have fallen. The dizziness grew worse, and she swallowed thickly against a rising nausea.

" _I_ didn't bring you. If I had, you wouldn't have ended up here, and you can thank fate for that." His eyes narrowed. "It was you, wasn't it? You opened the gate. Oh, you _stupid_ girl."

Hermione opened her mouth. _I was trying to stop you, you bastard, you nightmare, you evil piece of shit_ , she wanted to scream, but the nausea pushed up into her throat. She wrenched herself desperately from his hands, fell to her knees, and threw up. Her gut clenched again, again, even when there was nothing left to bring up, while a small, wry part of her brain noted that the ugly grey grass looked none the worse for having sick all over it.

At last, trembling, she sat back on her haunches. Her head had steadied a bit, but she longed for a cup of water, a soothing hand on her brow, even a rag. She couldn't remember when she'd felt more miserable.

"Are you quite finished?" Snape's tone, bored and irritated, gave Hermione a welcome rush of fury. On the strength of it she staggered to her feet and glared at him.

"You're going to kill me, right? Or maybe just drain my mind. Well, get it over with! That's what you do, isn't it? Especially to children." Ugh—her mouth felt foul. She turned her head and spat.

"Stop being dramatic." Again Snape grasped her arm; she tried to pull back, but his grip was relentless. "Come. This place isn't safe." He began to pull her toward the steep rocky slope, and she let herself be pulled, her booted feet stumbling a little over the uneven ground.

"Oh, and if you want to be sick again," Snape said after a minute or two, almost conversationally, "you'll have to do it while walking."

 _Cheers, you utter bastard._

As if he could read her mind, Snape added, "Your dizziness is normal, if anything here can pass for normal, and we'll deal with it later. But we don't have the luxury of stopping. Not while we're still—exposed." He meant, she knew, not the lid-like sky or the dim, disturbing bar of light low on the horizon, but the sense that something watched them with lazy interest: the way a man-eating tiger, temporarily sated, might keep tabs on a lone man in a hut deep in the forest.

Hermione focused on putting one foot in front of the other and not being sick again. Soon she found that if she kept her gaze steadily forward, the dizziness was manageable. It also helped that nothing was left in her stomach. They moved at a brisk walk, Snape's firm hand steadying her over the uneven ground. She noticed they gave the tallest clumps of grey grass a wide berth, but as they skirted a particularly large and spiny growth, almost thigh-high, she made the mistake of looking down. Instead of flowers, the tallest stems sprouted little mouths with rosy, moist-looking lips. As they passed, the stems stretched out toward them and the mouths opened to expose white, pointed teeth. She jerked, letting out a tiny yelp. She could have landed on one of those when she tumbled into this world . . .

"Keep moving," Snape said grimly. A few paces further brought them to the foot of the rocky slope. Hermione noticed with relief that they kept well clear of the twisted trees that clung to the stony soil farther above them; still, as they passed she heard a dry whispering, and branches groped after them like claws. Snape flicked a glance up the slope and raised his left hand, index finger pointing at the trees.

" _Advento dulcis_ ," he murmured.

Hermione pulled back hard against his grasp. "What?"

"Quiet," he hissed. His fingers closed even harder around her arm, almost to the point of pain.

"But—you're telling them to _come_ to us!" she said in a fierce whisper.

"I said quiet!"

Hermione looked up, half cringing, expecting to see dry twigs reaching for her face and hair. Instead the trees had pulled their branches close to their trunks, almost as if they were recoiling from an attack. Before she could puzzle this out, they rounded a great black boulder and left the trees behind. The spiny grass beneath them thinned, grew sparse, and soon they were on a narrow pathway of dirt pocked with small stones. As the path took them downward, the rocks around slowly cut out the sky and the sight of dreadful plateau where she'd landed. With every step Hermione felt less oppressed, as if whatever watched them couldn't see as clearly here. Even the dizziness calmed. She took a deep breath, hopeful she might not, after all, suffer the humiliation of being sick again.

They were now at the bottom of a chimney of jagged rock that rose yards above them, only a patch of dim sky visible above. Hermione could see nothing but rock; it looked as if they'd reached a dead end. But Snape led her toward another huge black boulder that could have been the twin of the one at the beginning of the path. He extended an arm, fist closed tight, and murmured, " _Adoperio_."

To _close_? But as Hermione bit back her protest, with a heavy rumble the boulder shifted, and a gap about two feet wide opened. Dim light crept out, but this looked like lamplight, butter-yellow, normal and homey.

Snape pushed her ahead of him, though not roughly. "Turn sideways," he said, and when she hesitated, added, "Go in. This is a safe place."

No other choice, really, except to flee back up the path, straight toward the groping trees, the alien light, the hideous mouth-flowers. Hermione turned sideways and went crab-wise through the gap. After a few steps she found herself in a cave-like chamber. A hearth glowed in one corner, spilling heat and ruddy light, and candles flickered in small stone bowls filled with sand. If not for the fact that the man who had brought her here was an insane abductor of children and she was his latest captive, Hermione would have considered this cave the first normal, wholesome thing she'd seen since leaving Hagrid at the gates of Hogwarts. The firelight was a relief to eyes that strained to see in this world's alien twilight; a balm for her exhausted mind, assaulted by things that made no sense.

She took in everything at a glance: a sofa and easy chair, a wooden chest against one rock wall, an overstuffed bookshelf, other shelves filled with bottles and phials that gleamed dimly, and a long table filled with the sort of paraphernalia Hermione knew only too well from six years of potions classes.

It seemed Severus Snape was still practicing his craft. With a flicker of hope, Hermione wondered whether he'd retained at least some of his old memories—and perhaps, with them, a spark of humanity and reason.

Snape, following behind, murmured a spell she could by now predict meant "Open," and the boulder ground back into place. Then he stepped in front of her, arms folded across his chest, and she raised her chin to meet his gaze.

"Now it's time to discuss your future, Miss Hermione Granger," he said softly.

Never, not even in her worst moments in his potions class, had she seen such bitterness in his eyes. In that instant her hope died.

* * *

 **Note:**

Thanks for reading and commenting! The next chapter, "A Potions Test," will be posted July 30.


	7. Chapter 6--A potions test

**Chapter Six: "A potions test"**

"Any change?" Ron asked Poppy Pomfrey. His normally cheery face looked thin and drawn, his eyes tired. A stubble of reddish beard tracked down his cheeks. He had visited the infirmary every day and spent at least an hour each morning and evening sitting between Diana and Terry's beds. He chatted about everything from Quidditch practice to the weather, as if they could hear. Poppy did nothing to discourage him, for she had run out of all other options.

The previous afternoon, Minerva had dispatched an owl to Ethelwyn Trickett, one of St. Mungo's most famous healers. Ron had greeted that news with loud relief, but Poppy knew how difficult it had been for Minerva to issue that plea. Healer Trickett's controversial method of healing the body by exorcising dark forces from the mind had failed on only a few occasions, but the first—many years ago—had meant the death of someone close to Minerva. Exactly how close Poppy didn't know, but sending that owl was a measure of Minerva's desperation.

Healer Trickett had arrived that night. Grey-haired and grandmotherly, she exuded a cheerful calm that Poppy found reassuring. Wasting no time, the healer had gone directly to Diana and Terry. Asking Poppy and Minerva to stay as witnesses, the healer invoked both Life Maps. Bathed in that coruscating light, she examined both maps closely and in silence. Then she stood between the two comatose students, one hand on each of their foreheads, her eyes closed, body tense with concentration. At last she swayed and sagged, her hands falling to her sides. "They've gone somewhere I've never travelled—and wherever it is, I can't follow," she said, all cheer gone from her voice, leaving it ragged and weary. Meeting Minerva's grimly critical gaze, she had explained that the children's life pathways were too fragile. "My smallest intervention would destroy them." After a bitter pause, Healer Trickett turned her head away. "I'm so sorry."

On the heels of that bad news came worse: according to Arthur Weasley, Hermione had failed to arrive for work at the Ministry two days ago. Ron had taken the news in grim-lipped silence, but Hagrid had been inconsolable. It was all Minerva could do to stop him from charging headlong into the Forest and pulling up every tree by its roots, Interdiction or no.

Now Poppy rested a gentle hand on Terry's forehead. His skin looked more grey than brown, and he breathed in shallow little spurts. Diana looked gaunt, her closed eyes shadowed, a shade of the vigorous and athletic Head Girl she had been less than a week ago.

"No change," Poppy said to Ron. "But they're no worse." Earlier, she had managed to coax some water into each of them, but still no solid food. Soon she would have to ask the potions mistress, Madam Heatherfield, to concoct another batch of an emergency nutritional lotion that allowed patients to absorb nutrients through their skin. It would keep their bodies alive for a while, but with their mind-paths fading and dying, what good would that do?

She offered Ron her best professional smile. "Keep talking to them, though," she said. Healer Trickett had said they were lost, but perhaps a calm, cheerful voice talking about everyday things might help, she thought, like a long line of buoys straggling across a pitch-dark ocean. But Ron held her eyes, and she sensed he wasn't fooled by her bedside manner.

"When are we going to tell their parents?" he said.

"The headmistress has already written to them."

"And what did she say?"

"Not to worry. That it's a bit too soon for them to visit."

"Too soon?" At Poppy's frown, Ron lowered his voice. "More like too late," he muttered. Then, with a long sigh—"Right. Well, I'll stay a few more minutes, yeah? I haven't told them yet what Sweeney did to the Snitch today. Pretty funny. They might—" he looked at Diana and Terry, and his voice softened "—enjoy hearing that."

"I'm sure they will," said Poppy, and reached toward the water pitcher. But Ron, still looking at the students, put his hand on her arm.

"When they find Hermione," he said very quietly, "What if she's like them?"

Poppy hesitated, knowing not to resort to platitudes, but unable, for a moment, to think of anything reassuring to say. According to Minerva, Firenze and his centaurs were scouring the Forest for Hermione. Minerva's interdiction had rendered it off-limits to everyone else, even the Aurors Arthur Weasley wanted to send. Yet the power of the centaurs came from centuries of stewardship over the Forest, not actual control. What if the Forest and its creatures decided to heed them no more?

"She's the strongest witch I know," she finally said. "If anyone is capable of fighting back, it's she."

Ron looked at her, his blue eyes opaque. For once she couldn't read him. Resigned, enraged, beyond despair, guilt-ridden? He might have been all of those things, or none.

"Right," he said softly. Then he turned and sat himself down between the two beds, resting his elbows on his knees. As he began to talk quietly, Poppy refilled the patients' water glasses and turned toward her office.

She had taken only a few steps when she stopped short. A dark figure stood just inside the infirmary door, face hidden in the dim light. Yet she hadn't heard anyone come in. Had Minerva called another healer? But no: surely the headmistress would have told her first.

The figure did not move, and Poppy found herself thinking of the name Diana had screamed out three days ago. Her heart began to hammer.

* * *

Hermione swam in warmth. She lay, eyes closed, aware of nothing but the pillow beneath her cheek, the comforting weight of a soft blanket, and firelight flickering through her eyelids. The air smelled vaguely like ginger. Someone moved nearby; she heard what sounded like a poker prodding a log, and the fire crackled anew. She didn't want to move; she couldn't remember when she'd last felt so cosy and safe. Maybe at the Burrow. Is that where she was?

A vague memory surfaced of having been dizzy and sick, but her head didn't swim, and her mouth—though dry—did not taste disgusting. Another memory: a plateau spiked with rough grey grass; a sky so low it felt like a lid upon the world; the twisted shapes of tree-like things, black-clawed against the sky. Hermione frowned, eyes still closed.

And then everything came crashing back. She wasn't safe: she was supposed to be dead. He was going to kill her. He had said something about her future, but the look in his eyes had been bleak, deadly. She couldn't remember whether she'd tried to run. All she remembered was the world blurring, swimming into greyness, nothingness.

Did he know she was awake?

What if she lay very still? Waited for him to go away?

"I know you're awake, Miss Granger."

Her eyes flew open. She was lying full-length on the long sofa, a cushion tucked under her cheek. Her hoodie, along with the sturdy walking shoes, had been placed neatly beside her rucksack on the floor beside the sofa. On a hassock near the hearth sat her abductor, bowed over, elbows on knees. He had removed his black coat, and the dark grey long-sleeved shirt and black vest looked ordinary. He had not taken off the ugly black boots, still laced up over his trousers. He didn't look at her but into the fire, his sharp profile and hooked nose black against the warm glow of firelight.

"I know what you're thinking," Severus Snape said, still not looking at her, "but you can't leave. Not without a guide. Not if you wish to live."

Hermione pushed herself up until she was sitting, then wrapped her arms around her knees. No dizziness: the world had steadied, and she no longer felt sick.

"Does that mean," she said with care, "you're not going to kill me?"

Snape turned his head sharply to face her. "Why would I want to do that, for fuck's sake?"

His swearing, once unimaginable, seemed quite in keeping with her sense that reality as she understood it no longer applied.

"I have no idea," she shot back. "Why would you want to abduct children?"

Snape stared at her for a moment, his expression appalled, then he turned back to the fire. "I don't," he said, and it seemed to her his voice sounded strained. "I don't abduct children. They would be taken with or without me. I just do what I can to make what happens . . . less painful."

"And you don't even _try_ to stop it?" She flung the blanket off. "That makes you just as responsible!" Her fear was gone, swamped by a rising fury.

"You came through the gateway without my help. Do you forget what that felt like? Like being torn apart?" His voice was calm, though his hands tightened into fists.

"That's not the point." Hermione stood up, a small part of her noticing she now felt strong and steady. "If you think you helped Diana and Terry, guess again. They're dying."

Snape's gaze flicked away from hers. "I know," he said quietly, and beneath the calm she caught a note of terrible grief.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to think. If Snape was insane, shrieking at him wouldn't help. If any spark of humanity remained within him, she had to find it, call it forth.

"Ten years ago," she said quietly, "I saw Severus Snape die. Rather horribly." She stopped as images from her dreams of a decade ago rushed into her mind: Snape crawling toward her, Snape imprisoned in a cave lit with greenish, unwholesome light—his screams of agony. Her mouth went dry. As if somehow sensing her thoughts, the figure against the firelight went very still, the stillness of an animal before it springs.

Hermione took a ragged breath, forced herself to go on. "It was a nasty, pointless death. Everyone thought he deserved it. But we were wrong, we know that now. Professor Snape was killed in honouring a promise. A promise made long ago, to someone he loved. Harry—" for a moment her voice wavered, "Harry considers him the bravest man he ever knew. And," her voice sank, "so do I."

Snape rose to his feet and turned to face her. "Why are you telling me this?"

Hermione had heard that soft, deadly voice many times in Potions. Without exception it meant trouble, not uncommonly for her. But this was no Potions class; this was no Hogwarts. She sensed mortal danger, whether from Snape or that unseen watcher on the plateau or some other horror she had yet to face. Without her wand, she had no defences except reason and boldness and luck.

She swallowed. "Can you tell me who you made that promise to? Can you tell me who you loved? _Do you remember?_ "

For several seconds he simply stared at her. Then his lips curved in a bitter smile, accentuating the sharp grooves bracketing his mouth. "A test, is it? How delightful. Let's see how well I do. Am I Severus Snape? Yes. Did I escape death? Yes, though I don't remember the details. Is this hellhole of a world my new home? Oh, yes. And I'm sure you're wondering whether I'm even sane. The correct answer is yes. With reservations." He stopped abruptly, his eyes shuttering. "This world is very different," he said more quietly. "The human mind isn't well suited to it." He lifted his eyes again, his gaze boring into her. "You'll soon understand that—all too well."

Hermione shook her head, partly in denial, partly to try and process what he was saying. "You haven't answered me."

"I can't," he said grimly. "I don't remember making any promise. And I don't remember loving anyone." His voice grated over that last word. "I find the idea ridiculous."

Hermione let out a short breath. "That's because those memories aren't yours anymore. You gave them to Harry."

As fury spasmed across his face, she raised her chin. "I was there."

He stared at her as the fury drained away, and for a moment his face seemed etched in sadness. Then his expression cleared. "Very clever, Miss Granger." His eyes glinted. "Do I pass your test?"

"Not quite," she said, rather conscious of this odd role reversal. "First, I need to be convinced you won't harm me."

Snape crossed his arms. "If I wanted to harm you, stupid girl, then explain why I treated your dizziness and then let you sleep it off on my sofa."

A sound point, but she wasn't rising to that bait. Instead she pointed to the chair where Snape had flung his coat. "Then give me back my wand."

For a long moment Snape looked at her, his face expressionless, and she held his gaze. At last, without a word or the flicker of an eye, he reached down to his right boot and produced a wand. It was hers; she knew it instantly. He balanced it across both palms as if it were made of something too delicate, or too dangerous, to grasp.

"Sit down, Miss Granger."

Hermione imagined lunging forward and snatching her wand from his open hands. Petrificus Totalis—and in a second Snape would be helpless. Or would he? Something told her that plan would manage to backfire. With a sigh, she sat back down on the sofa.

"In this world, magic does not behave the way you're used to," said Snape, his voice low, as if someone nearby were trying to eavesdrop. "The effects of a spell can be completely unexpected: chaotic, even fatal. I have discovered wandless spells are less volatile. They generally—"

"—create the opposite effect," she interrupted. "I noticed that."

"For the most part." Snape failed to look impressed by her quick observation. "However, the first thing you need to learn about this world is that nothing can be predicted. Nothing is stable. Do you remember the hillside?"

Hermione stared at him.

"Outside? When the trees began to close in on us?" he insisted.

She suppressed a shudder. "Yes."

"One day without thinking, I used—" his voice fell almost to a whisper "—the Protego spell. I barely escaped." Snape rolled up his left sleeve, and Hermione bit her lip. The Dark Mark once etched into his skin had faded almost to invisibility, but the pale flesh was criss-crossed with thin, silvery scars, as if he'd been whipped with tiny flails. "I learned the hard way that your only hope is to drop your normal defences. Invoke your power while opening your mind to any and all possibilities. _Without_ a wand."

"But why? A wand channels power; prevents magic from becoming chaotic."

"Not here!" Snape's eyes blazed. "Using a wand in this realm is like sending up the Dark Mark in ours." He took a deep breath and added more calmly, "It would attract attention of a kind you don't want." He extended his hands, palms out. "But I will return this to you as a token of trust. Or a peace offering, if you want to think of it that way. _Not_ an invitation for foolish wand-waving."

Hermione stared at the slender, tapered object in Snape's hands, its polished surface limned with firelight. Slowly, careful not to touch him, she reached out and grasped her wand between her thumb and two fingers. As carefully as if it were a stick of dynamite, she slid it into a deep pocket of her rucksack.

"For now," she said, "I won't use it. And I won't ask any more questions about that—not yet. But I need to know about Diana and Terry. If you didn't want them dead, who did? And why?" Her rose rose on the last few words.

Snape surged to his feet. Startled, she pushed herself back.

"We must go." He swept his coat off the chair. "This place won't be safe for much longer." The coat swirled around his shoulders. "Put these on." He picked up her boots and hoodie and dropped them beside her. "Now!" Not waiting for her to react, he whirled toward his workbench. From amongst bottles and bowls, measuring cups and spoons, and jars filled with ingredients, he extracted what looked like a hip flask. Then he took a wooden spoon with a lip on one side and dipped it into a cauldron steaming over a flame (the source of the ginger scent, Hermione realized). With care, he tipped several measures of a golden liquid into the flask, then sealed the top. Then he undid one of the pockets of Hermione's rucksack and pushed the flask inside.

"What are you—?"

He tossed the rucksack to her. "The potion controls the dizziness," he said curtly. "There is enough for three days."

She stopped in the midst of pulling on her shoes. "Three _days_? But isn't the gateway nearby?" She gestured in the direction of the plateau. "Out there, where I came through? That's only a few minutes' walk." She frowned. "Maybe half an hour."

"It's not possible to send you back from this place. Not without terrible consequences," said Snape, rummaging through a rucksack of his own. "The only hope of getting you back safely and intact lies at least two days from here. On foot," he added, as if it were an afterthought.

"Two days? Then—how did you send Diana and Terry back?"

"That," said Snape grimly, "is what I mean by 'terrible consequences.'" His eyes suddenly blazed. "Get this through your head, Miss Granger, before you waste more time with foolish questions. We have three days. If you aren't back in your world by then, you will adapt permanently to this one—every single cell of you. You will have to live here for the rest of your life, which will likely be short and miserable. Unless—" with a brisk wave he extinguished the flame beneath the cauldron "—despite my best efforts, you are caught by the kidnapper. If that happens . . ." Another sharp gesture and the hearth fire died, leaving only the candles.

Hermione scrambled into her hoodie. "What? Who is this kidnapper? There must be a way to defend ourselves."

"The less said, the better. Even the name—" he took in a hissing breath "—can be a summons." Snape secured his rucksack. "Three things: first, do _not_ use your wand. Second, when I tell you to do something, do it instantly, without question. Your life may depend on it. Third, never leave my sight. _Never_. Do you understand?"

It was tempting to retort, but the urgency in his voice quelled her. So she simply nodded, then followed the former Potions Master past the narrow wall of rock to the great slab concealing the entrance to his sanctuary. Glancing quickly behind her, she saw the candles dying one by one, until the once cosy cave was plunged into darkness.

* * *

 **Note:**

Trickster32, I appreciate your comment about Hermione jumping to conclusions. She was worried about Snape's state of mind in Ch. 4 and whether he'd remember what he did for Hogwarts. I hope this chapter adds more insight!

Thank you to everyone for reading! Ch. 7, "Opposites Attack," will be posted on Aug. 6.


	8. Chapter 7--Opposites attack

**Chapter Seven: "Opposites attack"**

In Snape's deserted cave one last candle burned low, throwing long shadows over the potions table and its cooling cauldron, the rows of glass jars reflecting thin streaks of light. As the candle guttered, the rocky walls began to glow with a strange light—greenish and sickly, like the phosphorescence from a dead thing. The light grew stronger, forming a centre of cold green brilliance in front of the dead hearth: at first a tiny point, then growing in a few heartbeats to a tunnel the size of a door. Wind howled into the cave with a high, thin keening, whipping up papers like leaves and toppling a couple of small empty phials.

A figure, hooded and cloaked in emerald green, emerged from the tunnel. As it stepped almost delicately into the room, the wind died and the tunnel shrank to the size of a coin. The hooded head moved back and forth, its unseen eyes surveying the room in the greenish light from the shrunken tunnel. The light pulsed irregularly, casting shadows that seemed almost alive.

"Severus?" the figure murmured. The voice was female, low and languorous. The head oscillated. "Gone already?" Then the figure went very still, the head raised as if sniffing the air. "You aren't alone, are you?" The sweet voice took on a bitter edge, like poison-laced honey. "Who is it?" She took two quick, springing steps into the room, then turned completely around. "Oh, Ssseverus—" the name came out as a soft hiss —"I hope for your sake you're bringing her to me."

A slim, graceful hand emerged from the cloak and gestured at the pulsing green light, coaxing the tunnel to grow. Then the figure raised its hand and hurled a ball of green light at the potions table. It and everything on it—the cauldron, the jars—erupted with an unearthly brilliance. Moments later, nothing remained of the table but grey ash, swirling in the thin, moaning wind that now blew back into the tunnel.

" _That's_ for not telling me what you're up to," she whispered. "Again. How much can I still trust you?"

The green-cloaked woman stepped into the tunnel, a cloud of ash trailing in her wake. The dark doorway shrank, not as if it were growing smaller but as if retreating into infinite space. The brilliant maelstrom collapsed, and the sickly remains of its light faded into blackness.

* * *

The dark figure by the infirmary door took a step toward Poppy Pomfrey. It was hooded, she saw, its face hidden. She knew what she had to do. With a slight movement of her left wrist, her wand slid into her hand.

"Wait," said the figure. At the sound of that voice, Poppy's breath caught, and her right hand flew to her throat.

"It's all right," said Harry Potter. He stepped forward, spreading both hands. Soft lamplight fell on dark hair and reflected off his owlish eyeglasses. He wore jeans, a dark grey hoodie, and a wry expression. He pushed back the hood. "Sorry to startle you," he added, with a quick, crooked smile. "I didn't want to interrupt." He nodded at the screen around the two comatose students. Ron's voice could be heard from behind it, rising and falling conversationally as if the patients could hear and understand him.

Poppy collected herself. It wouldn't do to hug a former student in her infirmary, especially this one. But she couldn't stop herself from smiling.

"It's wonderful to see you. Wonderful. But—what are you doing here?"

Harry's grin faded. "I know about Hermione."

Poppy nodded, her own expression sobering. "Then you want to see Mr Weasley. Ron, that is," she said, but Harry's face changed, and she turned to see Ron stepping out from behind the screen. For a moment the two young men just stood there, then they met in an awkward, back-slapping hug.

"You look bloody awful, mate," said Harry gently.

Ron gave a sharp laugh. "Yeah. Thanks." He ran a nervous hand through his hair, not quite meeting Harry's eyes. "I suppose you've heard what's happened." He jerked his chin toward the curtain.

"You mean the two kids. Yeah. But I'm here because of Hermione." At that Ron's gaze shifted away, and Poppy saw him swallow. "I want to help," Harry added, his voice low.

Ron looked at Harry sharply. "Did the Ministry send you? If they did, it's about fu—" With a look at Poppy, he stopped himself. "About bloody time someone took this seriously."

Harry cleared his throat. "Let's go talk somewhere, Ron." He threw a glance at Poppy. "If you don't mind, Madam Pomfrey."

"You have my blessing," Poppy said. She addressed Ron. "Get some rest. I don't want to see you back here until tomorrow at the earliest. Do you understand?"

Ron had to be cajoled with a promise from Poppy to let him know if anything changed. As the two men moved toward the infirmary door, Ron grumbling about how cold the staffroom was and how sour the disposition of the door-portrait, Harry threw a look back at Poppy. She gave a single sad nod, knowing what he was about to tell Ron. There was no team of Ministry Aurors. Harry had come alone. Poppy wanted to believe that one Harry was worth at least ten other Aurors. She hoped so, since for now it seemed Minerva had chosen secrecy as her top strategy for dealing with the dying students and Hermione's disappearance.

With a sigh, Poppy turned toward her office. She had a potions order to write up for Madam Heatherfield.

* * *

To her surprise, Hermione didn't find it too unbearable to be outside again-at first. After emerging from the cave and re-tracing their steps through the rocky canyon, Snape led her along a different path, still sheltered by rocks and thankfully the opposite direction from the hungry trees. She had no idea how long they walked, for in the perpetual alien twilight, she couldn't track the passage of time. After a while the path narrowed to a rough-cut groove through which she could barely squeeze. Then the path opened up, and she found herself looking down, down the face of the same cliff whose edge she had crawled toward: the mass of dark forest far below and the dreary light of an unseen sun, resting on the horizon like a heavy bar.

Hermione stopped, her heart in her throat. The twisting path was impossibly steep, and the forest looked so far below she knew it would take hours to get down. Hours they didn't have, for that feeling of being watched returned, as strong as before. She felt like a fly on a white wall.

Snape looked back at her, and something about his tense stance told her he felt the watcher as well. "We haven't a moment to lose, Granger. Follow me exactly, step by step. Watch my feet. Don't look around or down." When she didn't answer, he snapped, "Do you understand?"

Hermione nodded. What other choice did she have? Snape began the descent and she followed, keeping her eyes glued to Snape's black boots, mimicking every move he made, trying not to think about the abyss below or the creeping feeling that somewhere, something watched them with growing interest. This was much worse than flying, which she'd always hated, though at least she didn't have to cope with the sick dizziness that had greeted her arrival here. Focusing intently on the boots, it took her a while to realize that instead of picking their way down this twisting cliffside path, she and Snape were almost leaping from point to point, covering great swaths of ground without much effort at all. At times they seemed almost to float, as if even the law of gravity wasn't working as it should.

In the middle of one long leap, Hermione risked a quick look down and immediately wished she hadn't. She seemed to be suspended, hanging in space, the dark forest of twisted trees rising to meet her. Then vertigo slammed her—the grey alien sky and dark trees slipping, changing places—and with a muffled cry she began to flail, and she was falling, falling . . .

A hand seized her arm, and a moment later she felt ground beneath her feet. As she swayed, two hands came down hard on her shoulders, as if their force could anchor her.

The hands didn't move until Hermione's breathing slowed and her trembling subsided. At last she opened her eyes. She expected the face looking down at hers to be full of contempt or anger. To her surprise, though, the thin lips twitched upward. "A stupid move, Miss Granger, but until that point you acquitted yourself reasonably well. Better than I did on my first descent." His hands slipped away. "It isn't much farther to the forest floor." His eyes darkened. "And we're too exposed here. Stay close behind me—and don't look down."

She swallowed dryly. "Wait."

"What now?"

"I think I need—to hang onto something," she mumbled.

Without a word, Snape extended his left arm. A bit hesitantly, feeling ten different kinds of an idiot, Hermione gripped the sleeve of his coat. Suddenly, from far above them came a faint, harsh cry, almost a screeing, like fingernails scraping across a blackboard. At the lip of the cliff where they had been standing not long ago, a column of dust boiled, as if stirred up by a vicious wind.

Snape's lips set in a white line. "Now!"

Hermione gritted her teeth as they leapt downward, her eyes fixed on bloodless knuckles twisting black cloth. At last she sensed as much as saw dark shapes rising around them. A few moments later, her feet touched down on soil rather than rock—and stayed there.

"We've reached the bottom," said Snape, his voice hushed. Hermione raised her head. They stood in a clearing surrounded by trees: some grey-leafed and stunted, others bare-branched except for wrinkled black berries, still others like weeping willows, their dull green leaves forming impenetrable domes. Yet above them all towered trees that must have been at least several storeys high, with thickly bristled branches and straight black trunks whose tips seemed to pierce the low grey sky. They should have been majestic, but on a level beyond appearance or explanation, they felt profoundly ugly, somehow as twisted as the low growth around them. Hermione looked away with a shudder.

Snape shook his arm slightly. "You may let go, Miss Granger."

"Sorry," she muttered, unlocking her fingers.

"We're not safe here," he said, very low. His eyes flicked around the clearing. "Nowhere is safe, but here at least we won't be easily found; the energies are too tangled. Be grateful we didn't linger at the top or anywhere near the cave." He pointed across the clearing to what looked like a pathway. "That's our route to the gateway. Come."

She hurried to keep up with him. "Found by who?"

"Don't you mean—by whom?"

Her temper rose. "Why don't you answer me?"

He flung her an angry look. "All you need to know is this: If we are found, you will die. Or worse: you'll be a shell, drained of your life essence. If you want to avoid that, you'll do exactly as I say, when I say it, without hesitation."

Hermione gritted her teeth. _You haven't changed, have you, you greasy arrogant bastard._

Meanwhile, the gloomy clearing had narrowed down to a twilit pathway that twisted among dark, crouching trees. A strong sensation of hostile eyes bored into the back of Hermione's neck. Her temper forgotten, she drew closer to Snape, pulling up her hood as if it could somehow shield her. She had never felt so naked: her wand useless in its sleeve holder, her magic unreliable, if she could even still wield magic in this hellish world. Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked rapidly to hold them back. She was damned if she was going to show the ex-potions master any more weakness.

Snape stopped suddenly, then reached for her arm and pulled her forward. "You first."

"What?"

"You're safer in front. If we're attacked, it will likely come from behind." She started to turn. "No—don't look."

"If we're attacked," Hermione said as Snape pushed her forward. "What are the chances we won't be?"

"Vanishingly small. Just keep going. I'll be directly behind you."

 _Keep going. Sweet Merlin_. As they walked into the thickening darkness cast by the trees, Hermione had never in her life wanted so badly to pull out her wand and unleash her uniquely arse-kicking brand of Protego Maximus. In a normal, sensible world that spell was strong enough to stop even a giant dead in its tracks. But in this perverse place, she thought gloomily, it would probably act like a dinner bell, with her and Snape as the appetizers.

"Remember what I said about defense," Snape murmured behind her. It was as if he could read her mind, and that was a disturbing thought. "In an attack, don't shield—do the opposite. Make them come. _Compel_ them. Then strike."

"With _what_?" She tried to keep her voice from shaking.

"Your mind, Granger! Your _mind_! Your will to survive!" As he spoke, Hermione's sense of being watched from behind grew stronger. On both sides of the twisted path, she thought she saw small shadowy movements near the ground. Above and behind them, dry branches whickered against each other as if stirred by wind, though there was none. Just ahead, a single dead branch protruded from a gnarled stump, pointing like a skeletal finger toward the path. Hermione understood somehow that the stump was alive, watching, just waiting for them to pass . . .

From behind them came a heavy, choking roar, and branches crashed as if a great wind were rolling toward them. As she bit down on a scream, Snape grabbed her arm and pulled her against him so they stood back-to-back. A second later, something exploded through the trees and burst onto the pathway: black and shaggy, humpbacked like a buffalo and twice the size. Shuddering to a halt, it reared up on two squat, splayed feet and gave another choking roar. Its breath was sickening, like decay; the long-muzzled, dripping mouth jammed with teeth the size of kitchen knives. Grotesquely, it had no eyes: only folds of leathery grey skin.

As the huge beast dropped back to all fours, a dry crackling came from above them, like fire burning in a hearth. Hermione looked up to see a network of sharp, dry branches weaving themselves together into spikes. Like a time-lapse film, the spikes grew and thickened at the base, and the pointed ends began driving down toward them.

Snape threw a look upwards. "You deal with that," he said almost conversationally.

"What?" she shrieked.

"You heard me." He whirled toward the beast, raising his right hand. Blind though it was, the creature seemed to have no trouble targeting its prey. It reared again, roaring, and claws like scimitars flashed above their heads. Hermione pulled back sharply, but Snape's other hand held her like a manacle. She couldn't run, couldn't move.

" _Erumpo_!"

A faint white light outlined Snape's hand and leapt toward the rearing beast. Distracted, it snapped at the light with its teeth. Then to Hermione's astonishment, the beast dropped back down on all fours with a deep, huffing groan. A second later it slumped to the ground and curled up into a heaving ball, its jaws working.

Snape, his arm straight and palm out toward the beast, began to clench his fingers closed slowly, with effort, as if he were squeezing a hard rubber ball.

"Granger! The branches!" he panted. Half-dazed with terror, she looked up to see the lethally pointed ends no farther away from their heads than a low ceiling. Hermione's right hand flew to her wand—and stopped. No wand. She had to compel them with her will. But how?

The branches grew closer and sharper. They reminded her of jagged teeth.

"Granger!" Snape roared.

Teeth _. Teeth_! Hermione extended her right hand in front of her, palm up as Snape had done, and let the long-buried anger and pain of an old humiliation fuel her will.

" _Densaugio_!" For a moment nothing happened. Despair almost stopped her heart. Then without warning, a ball of dim golden light jumped from her pointing finger to the nearest branch. A moment later every branch was enveloped in golden light. A clattering shiver ran through the trees, and the fang-like branches began to retreat rapidly back toward their trunks. Seconds later, they were harmless little stubs. The golden light died.

For a few seconds Hermione stared, stunned, at the now quiet branches. She had opened her mind to an insane, chaotic possibility: that a tooth-growing spell would de-fang their attacker. And it had _worked_. Almost dizzy with triumph, she turned back toward Snape, who was slowly lowering his right hand. Pulling Hermione with him, he backed them away from the great beast curled up on the path behind. She looked back at it once and just as quickly looked away, her lips clamping down on a moan. With muffled crooning sounds, the creature was tearing chunks of black fur and grey flesh from its own belly.

"No time for hysterics, Granger." Snape stopped and pointed to the gnarled stump with its single, pointing branch. They were now almost abreast of it. "That's a sentinel. We can't pass in front or behind without alerting a gateway guardian."

"Then what do we do?"

"Destroy it."

"Wouldn't that alert the guardian?"

Snape didn't answer. He glared at the stump, frowning deeply.

"Aren't you going to destroy it?"

"Quiet."

Now it was her turn to frown. "What spell did you use before?"

"Up until now," Snape said through gritted teeth, "I've had no need to destroy a sentinel. And the wrong spell will backfire most unpleasantly."

Backfire. Without giving herself time to second-guess, Hermione lifted both hands toward the sentinel.

" _Irrigo!_ "

"Wait! Let me!" Snape shouted, but turquoise light was already moving, wavelike, down the length of Hermione's arms. It leapt like a salmon from her hands and washed over the stump, which, instantly and perversely, burst into flame. As the column of fire whooshed upward, a cry—low, harsh, and furious—throbbed from the heart of the flame. Seconds later the fire died, leaving nothing but a black, smoking hole.

Hermione let out a shuddering breath, dropped her hands, and turned to Snape just in time to see his face slackened with astonishment, mixed with something that might have been admiration. Then he snapped his mouth closed and pulled his brows together.

"You were lucky, Granger."

 _Magic._ She could do magic again, bending this perverted environment to her will. She wanted to jump up and down and punch the air. She wanted to hurl fire at every ghastly tree in this forest.

"Clearly, there _are_ magical laws of some kind," she said demurely, if she'd solved a troublesome potions problem. "I just need to understand them."

Snape's mouth curled in a sneer. "I wouldn't be complacent if I were you. This world does not forgive complacency. What works here may not necessarily work elsewhere."

Biting back a retort, Hermione pushed her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and glared at him. He ignored the poisonous look.

"Now if you're quite ready, we have some distance to go." He swept his hand toward the pathway ahead. It took a sharp bend, then disappeared into the thick twilight of trees so dark, so distorted, that in comparison the Forbidden Forest looked like the well-tamed woodlands of a stately home.

Snape grinned mirthlessly. "After you, Granger."

 **Notes:**

 _Erumpo_ — attack, break open, discharge; _Irrigo_ — flood, inundate.

To 1les93-I appreciate your feedback! I'll be posting more often from now on. Watch for Chapter 8, "Predation," on Aug. 9.


	9. Chapter 8--Predation

**Chapter Eight: "Predation"**

For what seemed like hours, Hermione followed the former potions master beneath and around black, low-reaching branches, skirting twisted bushes that grew uncomfortably close to the path (she tried hard not to think about the mouth-flowers). Hours of not-quite-hearing sounds from the forest's murky twilight—whispers, moans, even fragments of what might have been words. Hermione felt profoundly grateful she couldn't quite hear them; she sensed they would be too ugly for human ears. Yet since the blind beast-thing and the fanged trees, not to mention the sentinel, they had encountered no other threats. Hermione couldn't help imagining that a message had passed, whispering, among the bristling branches and disturbingly shaped bushes crowding the narrow path, a message warning hostiles to keep their distance. For now, at least, until the forest could concoct new ways to dispose of them.

After a while Hermione started to feel unwell: the same queasy dizziness Snape had treated hours ago, creeping slowly back. She bit her lip grimly and stumbled on, but after a while the dizziness grew worse. At last she had to stop, pressing her hands over her eyes. With a hissed oath, Snape took her arm and almost dragged her along. Just when she thought she might be sick again, he forced her to duck under some soft, yielding growth that scraped unpleasantly along the back of her head. He sat her down on something moss-like, and a moment later the scent of peppermint and ginger rose into her nostrils: Snape's potion, a smell so clean and wholesome and healing it brought tears to her eyes. Almost immediately she felt well enough to drink some.

Moments later she was able to open her eyes. There wasn't much to see: a few feet above flourished a canopy of greyish leaves, so thick no glimpse of the sky could be seen. The canopy formed a bowl around them whose rim touched the ground, which was a layer of thick, soft moss so dark it looked almost black. She turned her head to see an enormous tree trunk behind her, grey and rough. This had to be one of the willow-like trees she'd noticed when they first entered the forest. Hermione hadn't liked the look of them then, and she liked being underneath one even less.

She looked around: no sign of Snape. Had he left her here alone? Lurching to her feet, she banged her head on one of the low-hanging branches.

"Shit!"

"Welcome back." That voice, edged with sarcasm, made her sag with relief. A moment later a swath of thick grey leaves rustled, and Snape crawled in. He sat down a few feet away, only his pale face and hands visible in the gloom. "Sit down and stay quiet, Granger. This shelter won't be of any use if the entire forest hears you shouting."

"I thought—"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"Just as well." Snape rummaged in his rucksack and, to her astonishment, produced almonds, dried apple-rings, raisins, some rather crumbly biscuits, and a surprisingly nice-looking hunk of cheddar. Hermione's mouth started watering. She realized she was famished, yet when Snape laid the food out between them, she hesitated.

"Now what's the matter?" Snape's words were muffled by a biscuit topped with a thick slab of cheese.

"Where did you get this?"

Snape ignored her question, and for a brief moment Hermione considered the merits of starving herself on principle. Then her stomach rumbled painfully. She was famished.

Perhaps one mouthful wouldn't hurt.

A few minutes later she had wolfed down every savoury bite. As she chased the last crumb of cheese, Snape took a few swallows from a flask and offered it to her. She raised it to her mouth slowly, aware of a strange discomfort—not revulsion, exactly—about putting her own lips where his had been. But at the taste of fresh, cold water she closed her eyes in bliss. She had never drunk anything so delicious; her mind's eye conjured pure mountain streams and jugs of icy water filled with slices of cucumber. She wanted it all.

"Have a care" said Snape softly. "One sip will stay with you for a long time."

With great reluctance she passed the flask back to him, and he repacked it in his rucksack. Then they sat, not looking at each other, as the thick silence of the willow-shelter wrapped itself around them.

"Get some sleep," Snape said at last. "I'll keep watch."

"Not before you tell me more about this place. This world."

Snape hunched his shoulders. "As I said. The less you know, the better."

"I don't agree," she snapped. "I think it would be helpful to learn as much as I can. _Especially_ why—or how—spells seem to generate the opposite effect."

His head whipped around toward her, and she tried not to recoil at his scowl. "You may _think_ you can understand how magic operates here, but you can't." His tone reminded her of schoolmaster trying to drum wisdom into the skulls of idiots. "One moment a spell has the opposite effect. The next—who knows? The only 'law' here is chaos."

She clenched her fists. "I shrank the branches by telling them to grow. My water spell incinerated the sentinel. And that—thing that came up behind us . . ."

"As I said, you were lucky." Snape shook his head. "And as for the beast, the _Belua_ . . . were you even paying attention? That was no oppositional spell. We're too far away from the cliffs to risk relying on that effect. I cast an illusion, Granger. I made it think it had attacked us. That it had caught its prey."

Hermione swallowed, trying to put out of her mind the image of the beast tearing its own gut.

"I've had a long time to experiment," Snape continued after a moment. "Believe me when I say that in this world, magic works when and how it chooses." His fingers, interlaced around his knees, tightened. "Opposite spells have worked for me more times than not, but don't fool yourself, Granger. There is no 'law of opposites.' There is no law, period. No act of magic is predictable in this realm. Or if it is," he added, lowering his voice, "I haven't yet discovered how to make it so."

She had no idea what to say to that.

"Now get some sleep." Snape turned his head away. "Or if you can't do that, for Merlin's sweet sake at least stop talking."

Hermione's jaw dropped in indignation, but Snape wrapped his arms around his knees, ignoring her so completely she might as well have been invisible. With a sigh she lay down on the moss, turning her back to him. She closed her eyes, but images kept spinning through her mind: black, grasping branches, a low grey sky, tiny flowers with sharp teeth, towering rocks rising around her as she fell and fell, a ball of matted black fur, jaws busily working at its own guts—and beyond all, the sense of something watchful, hungry for the life within her, refusing to rest until it found her. For some reason, she associated that watchful force with the greenish light she had spied from the cliff top. For the first time in at least two years, she wished Ron was there: not the dull, demanding husband he'd become, but the staunch friend of her Hogwarts days. That friend would have put his arms around her and told her it was okay, that she was really brave, she would be all right.

She turned over, shivering, her throat swollen with tears she refused to shed, and stared at Snape. Her sullen and possibly psychotic companion sat cross-legged, half-turned from her, hands resting on his knees as if he were meditating, reminding her of how he had kept vigil in the cave. His hair was again pulled back tidily; after their encounter with the Belua, it had begun to straggle around his face, like that of the much-hated greasy git haunting Hogwarts' dungeons. Yet this strange Snape also reminded her of firelight, the scent of ginger steaming gently from a cauldron, a wiry strength that held her steady and kept her from falling. Suddenly she realized yet another peculiar thing about this Snape: he looked too young. Struggling to survive so long in this harsh world should have aged him far beyond his years, yet he didn't look much older than forty.

Did time in this universe move differently than in hers? What if time passed much more quickly in her world? If she didn't get back soon, would everyone—her parents, Harry, Ron—have aged past all recognition? Would they be dead?

 _No. No. Mustn't think about that._ It was much less horrifying to consider what laws of magic governed this place. Magic governed everything. In fact, her mind's voice lectured soothingly, at the smallest possible scale of existence where quantum fluctuations made the very fabric of space and time dance, magic was indistinguishable from any other force that drove life and growth and death. It just so happened that in the Wizarding World, that force was accessible, controllable. Whereas for the Muggle universe, separated from its sister by only the thinnest of skins, the dominant force was electromagnetism. If this ghastly place was a daughter universe bubbling up from the infinite cauldron of the multiverse, then it, too, was governed by laws. If only she could figure out what those laws were. Whatever Snape believed, no life-sustaining universe could be completely chaotic. Surely.

The moss seemed more comfortable now, almost bed-like, and Hermione's mind was slowing its frantic spin. If magic worked here, she considered lazily, why would wands be dangerous? Maybe it had to do with the fact that the heart of every wand—whether hair or string—was perfectly attuned to its bearer. In a universe with different laws, could that perfect tuning be off . . . meaning the wand might still work, but not in the way intended?

As she considered this, sleep at last took her.

* * *

She is dreaming. How else can she now be in her research lab at the Department of Mysteries? The long room is dark and empty, for it's Sunday. Hermione is alone, hunched over her desk, staring down at a row of equations. They look black and spidery in the golden pool of light from her gooseneck lamp. The only other light comes from the fitful loops and lines of colour that spark randomly within the eleven glass globes a few steps behind her. Each resting on a heavy metal tripod, the smallest globe is the size of her fist and the largest could fit her entire body comfortably. Sometimes it makes her shiver to be so close to the globes, and to the largest in particular. She knows it's impossible, but she imagines not paying attention, taking a careless step back and somehow . . . being pulled in.

"Stop that," she says aloud. No one else is around, and she can talk to herself or sing or scream if she wants. She doesn't have to endure yet another Sunday lunch at The Burrow. Stolid English beef larded with Molly's not-so-subtle hints about how she and Ron should be thinking about a child or two, and Ron ready with a quip or two about fitting it into Hermione's schedule while throwing her poignant looks (Mum's right—it's time. And I'd love to be a dad).

Suddenly she's back in their cottage with Ron, explaining that she can't come to The Burrow. He's concerned at first. "Are you feeling all right?" Then his eyes widen. "Is it—? Are you . . . ?" Once again she almost hates herself for dashing that recurring hope of his, for so easily Confunding him about her contraceptive charms. But the relief of being able to say (yet again) that it isn't morning sickness, that she's absolutely fine, is much greater.

"Then why can't you come?" Ron says, tight-lipped.

"It's my work. Something—" she spreads her hands desperately "—really important is about to happen. I have to be there."

"Now? Today?" He cocks his head, eyes narrowed. "It's Ledbetter, isn't it? Bringing you all in on a Sunday? That bitch has no concept of family life." He grabs his jacket. "Come on, Hermione. Why don't we talk to Dad. We'll get this sorted."

"No, Ron!" She catches his arm, and he turns impatiently. "If you ask Arthur to say something, it might seem like favouritism. It just—wouldn't help."

She watches his face as he considers that. Watches his expression close down tight. "Right," he says at last. "Well, I'm going." He pulls open the door and shoulders out, not looking at her.

"Tell Molly I'm sorry," she calls to his back. _And give everyone my love_ , she considers adding, but in the end she can't bring herself to say something so hypocritical.

This is the day, Hermione realizes. She's dreaming about the day Ron stormed away to Sunday lunch. The day she knew her old friend was gone, replaced with an angry husband under his mother's thumb. The day she knew she could not live with Ron a moment longer.

In the next breath she's back at her desk in the Department of Mysteries, staring at those bloody equations. Something important is supposed to be happening; she hasn't lied about that. She thought she was close, only a hair's breadth away from understanding the patterns that would show how all the seemingly disparate versions of magic—charms, spells, potions, wands—melded into one beautiful meta-unification: M-theory, the holy grail. M for what? Magic, mystery, matrix, mother?

Merlin?

 _Multiverse._

"M-theory works only at the quantum level," she's explaining a bit drunkenly to a bemused Harry. Now she's in the Muggle pub where Harry meets her every three or four weeks. Since leaving Ron, she's discovered who her true friends are, and Harry's just about the only one. Ginny definitely is not. "At that level," Hermione goes on, "everything just breaks down into a sort of—foam. Somehow, our magic is able to manipulate this foam, but we have no idea how. Everything in this realm is far too small to see any patterns."

"Can't you use a magnifying charm?" says Harry, showing a bit of interest, and she grins.

"No known magic can magnify a Planck length. That's unimaginably small, Harry—only 1.6 x 10-35 meters long—erm, 16 preceded by 34 zeroes and a decimal point."

Harry groans. "Come on, Hermione—use English." She laughs.

"Well. Hmm. Imagine a particle or dot about 0.1 mm in size. That's a pin-prick—we can see it, but just barely. Now magnify that pin-prick so it's as large as the observable universe: all the stars and galaxies we can see. Inside this universe-sized pin-prick, a Planck length would be roughly the size of an actual 0.1 mm dot."

"Well. Fuck me," says Harry, a bit drunk himself. "So what use is that? Why spend so much time on that?" and Hermione opens her mouth to tell him that somewhere in that quantum foam of possibilities, in one or more of the eleven dimensions posited by M-theory, dimensions she and Madam Ledbetter have tried to reproduce with eleven strange, liminal globes . . . they may discover the very structure of magic itself. They may even be able to tap into the power of the multiverse. But she stops herself just in time, for not even Harry has the clearance to hear this. And in that short tense silence, she hears him clearly not say— _Tell me this isn't why you left my oldest friend. Why you've wrecked your life._

And she's back in the D.O.M. Alone. She looks uneasily over her shoulder at the globes, but except for generating apparently random sparks of colour, they do nothing. The equations and their accompanying spells swim before Hermione's eyes, their patterns eluding her like minnows darting in a sunlit pond.

Magic. Mystery. Matrix. Mother. Multiverse.

Without warning, brilliance suffuses the symbols before her. From one heartbeat to the next she sees, Hermione understands, it all makes sense, and she gives a wordless shout of wonder and disbelief and joy. She begins yelling out the unifying equations, her Quick-Quotes Quill leaping over the page. But the brilliance begins to fade, dimming into a strange greenish glow as sickly as phosphorescence. She turns to look at the glass globes. Each one of them pulses with that unwholesome light, and she understands with horror that she has opened a gate to something unspeakably wicked.

She staggers to her feet, a scream filling her throat . . .

* * *

The Marauder's Map had seen better days; its edges were ragged, the thick parchment yellowing with age or perhaps just neglect. It had been shoved in a trunk years ago and forgotten, Harry told Ron. "But I remembered it today," he said as he scrooched forward in the lumpy staff room chair (same old furniture, Ron had muttered, though at least they'd gotten rid of the boggart) and laid the Map flat across a small coffee table. It was prep; almost all the faculty were off supervising students in various stages of sticky concentration. So besides the Quidditch master and the Man Who Lived, the only other occupant of the staff room was an ancient, gnome-like little figure sleeping open-mouthed in the room's only decently comfortable armchair. ("Our new Charms master," Ron had explained, jerking his chin at the figure. "New?" said Harry. "He has to be at least two hundred.")

"You don't honestly think Hermione's here at Hogwarts," said Ron flatly. "We've scoured the place."

"Nooo. But—I dunno. I just had a feeling I should bring this."

The parchment at last flattened, Harry touched his wand to it. " _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good_." In spite of himself, he grinned as thin, spidery lines appeared, growing and thickening into the outlines of Hogwarts. "Hello, old friend," he said softly. A moment later tiny dots of ink appeared, each labelled with a name. A few moved slowly along the halls, but most were clustered in common rooms, the library, or staff quarters.

Harry pointed at the staff room. Sure enough, three labels: Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley. And the Charms master.

"Ignatius Tiddles?" Harry swallowed a laugh. "What a name. Poor bugger."

Ron's mouth quirked. "If you so much as smile, he'll cast a vicious tickling charm."

Their grins faded as they began scanning the Map inch by inch, top to bottom. Ignoring the dozens of overlapping names in the populated areas, Harry focused on the more deserted places: the Astronomy Tower and the Owlery, the sixth-floor passageways, the library, even the prefect's bathroom. He descended to the hospital wing—no changes there—then scanned McGonagall's office (two labels—hers and one proclaiming _HAGRID_ ) before scrutinizing the myriad classrooms, closets, and offices, including the caretaker's. Not Filch; he had at last retired, ending a long reign of terror. The Great Hall appeared entirely empty, as did the kitchens below it. For some reason house elves didn't register on the Map.

Only the dungeons remained. Slowly, Harry and Ron scanned the maze-like assortment of rooms and corridors. As if by unspoken agreement, they started with the Slytherin common room ("Not bloody likely," Ron grunted), then examined the dormitories and other chambers farthest from the lake. Slowly and reluctantly—as if actually walking along those cold stone corridors—they moved closer to the Potions room, the antechamber for stores, and the adjoining rooms that had once belonged to Severus Snape.

* * *

Hermione awoke to the echo of her own cry. She was lying on her side under the willow tree, and at first the sight filled her with enormous relief. But the leaves were glowing with an unearthly greenish light that seemed to originate outside the protective bowl of the willow. Nearby, the black form of Severus Snape rose to a half-crouch, and cold shivers ran down her back as she understood Snape would go to the greenish light. She tried to tell him he shouldn't, that something wicked awaited him there. But—just as in a dream—she couldn't make a sound.

And just as in a dream, she was crawling after Snape while the sick green glow brightened and deepened into a vibrant emerald. At last the leaves thinned just enough for her to see through them. Snape stood in a clearing at the edge of a pool of light, half his face an unearthly green, the other half in shadow. A hooded figure stood only a few feet away, swathed in a long cloak of emerald. It was the cloak itself that glowed, the green light ebbing and growing, pulsing like a beating heart.

"Why are you here?" Snape's voice was a low, tense whisper.

A husky, feminine laugh. A slender hand rose, and as the hood fell back Hermione's breath snagged in her throat, for the face beneath was utterly perfect, like an artist's dream of beauty: the golden skin flawless, the curved black brows and brilliant eyes—green with gold flecks—framed by a long fall of black, lustrous hair. The woman took a swaying step toward Snape, red lips curving in a smile.

"I missed you."

"Did you."

The woman laughed again, deep in her throat. "You know me too well. Yes, I was angry. And your nice little cave will need a bit of tidying. I'm sure you can understand why." She swayed closer to him, and Hermione felt cold shuddering down her spine. "It's about trust, Severus. You didn't tell me about your latest find, did you? Or why you're dragging it through the forest, as if you could possibly hope to avoid me. I could—"she smiled again, and in the depths of her dream Hermione felt her blood run cold "—quite easily take it now."

Snape inclined his head. "You could. But with all due respect, that would be premature. The more she is able to marshal her powers here, the more you will gain in the end."

Her eyes narrowed into green slits. "She wouldn't, by any chance, learn enough to pose any kind of threat."

"Only enough," said Snape softly, "to keep the gateway open. To fulfill your plan."

"Why should I trust you?" Now she almost spat. "Trust seems to be a perennial problem for you. I warn you—"

Snape held up one hand. "Two days." Then he moved toward her, step by slow step, until he stood close enough to touch her. "Two days." The smooth, silken rope of his voice wound seductively between them. "That's all I ask. You won't be disappointed."

Hermione swallowed, dry-mouthed.

The woman in the emerald cloak seemed to consider Snape for a very long time. "I've always indulged you, haven't I. I've always let you come back."

Not a muscle of Snape's face moved as he looked at her, yet Hermione had the strong sense they were in battle.

Then the woman smiled brilliantly. "Two days." Her smile grew hard; to Hermione, the perfect white teeth looked sharp-edged, like an animal's. "And you won't even _think_ of disappointing me again, will you . . . Severusssss." As she drew out his name with a languorous hiss, she raised her right hand, the cloak falling back from her slim, golden arm. She caressed Snape's cheek, and Hermione saw him close his eyes. Revulsion? Resignation? Pain? Surely it couldn't be pleasure, for despite her beauty, everything about that woman struck Hermione as repulsive.

"No," said Snape, his eyes still closed, and beneath the silkiness of his voice Hermione heard an achingly sad note.

The emerald-cloaked woman gave a little laugh. "I'm glad that's settled. Because—" Her lips parted, and the delicate point of a tongue darted out "—as I said, I've missed you."

It seemed to Hermione that Snape hesitated a beat before bending his head and brushing his lips against her sculpted cheek.

"If I wanted a brotherly peck, I would have said so," the woman growled. Her hands cupped his jaw and her mouth fastened on his, a predator sinking teeth into its prey. With the strange paralysis of a dreamer, Hermione watched as the woman wound her arms around the former potions professor. Snape froze as if he might step back, and something deep within Hermione wanted him to step back. But then in one swift, violent move Snape pulled the woman against him. If she was a predator, he was a man trying to slake a terrible thirst—either that, or a man being drained.

It was horrible to watch, yet Hermione couldn't turn away. Tears filled her eyes, blurring the horror, yet she couldn't for the life of her understand why she wept.

At last the woman's glowing emerald cloak enveloped Snape. As they sank to the ground, the cloak's light pooling over and around them, a green-white brilliance stabbed at Hermione, painful as a shard of glass. She threw a hand up, turning her head away, then pushed herself backwards through the willow leaves. The unbearable light softened as the growth thickened around her, but the woman's soft growls of pleasure and the man's ragged breathing seemed as loud as if she stood beside them.

Groping her way back to the tree trunk, Hermione curled up on the moss, racked with shivering. As she wrapped her arms around her knees, the woman ululated: a high, harsh cry with nothing of pleasure in it, jagged as nails scraping across a blackboard. A moment later the man moaned gutturally. Hermione clamped her hands over her ears, her throat tight with sobs she could not voice because this was a nightmare, one in which the dreamer can't make a sound, can't even move.

It had to be.

* * *

The Potions room, the antechamber for stores, and the adjoining rooms that had once belonged to Severus Snape were empty. No tiny names on the Map. No sign of anyone.

Ron barked a laugh. "No one's used that part of the dungeons for years. Some of the kids say it's haunted." He gave Harry a sidelong look. "What were you expecting?"

"I know what Diana said," said Harry quietly. "About the 'black man' she saw." He shrugged. "It was a long shot."

On the Map, labels continued to quiver and shift. As the one marked _HAGRID_ moved away from McGonagall's office and headed toward the kitchens, Ron got to his feet.

"We've got to get back into the Forest first thing tomorrow," he said, low and fierce. "I'll talk to Hagrid. He's in tight with McGonagall these days—maybe he can convince her to lift the interdiction."

"Wait. Let me try one more thing." Harry leaned forward again and swept his wand slowly, right to left, across the part of the Map showing the dungeons. " _Exhibeo Memoria_." A finely rendered clock face appeared at the top of the Map, but the hands were crawling backwards, and on the Map the labels writhed, clustered, moved apart like ants: little lives spooling backwards in time.

Ron gave a low whistle. "Nice trick."

"I'm taking the Map back a week," Harry almost whispered, his wand extended, eyes not leaving the clock face and its backward-moving hands.

"What difference would that make?"

"Just wait, Ron. Just. . ." Suddenly, something like a shadow flitted across Snape's chamber and the storage anteroom. Harry slammed the tip of his wand down on the Map. " _Desino_!" The clock hands and the writhing labels froze.

"Did you see that?" said Harry tightly. "Four days ago. Getting on to midnight."

"I—dunno." Ron sat back down, frowning at the dungeons. The kitchens were empty of humans, but the dorms were full of motionless labels. Everything seemed peaceful.

" _Porro_." Harry slowly dragged the tip of his wand across the map-scape, this time left to right, and the clock hands began to crawl forward in slow motion. Most labels remained still, though a few shifted slightly. Then something strange began happening in the potions classroom. A darkness crept into it, curling like smoke. A nebulous label tried to form a name, but kept ripping apart like wet paper in a howling gale.

Ron sucked air between his teeth. "What the bloody. . ."

Harry, busy keeping the wand-tip steady, hardly dared to breathe as the smoky darkness filled the classroom and began to trickle into the office behind it: extending, reaching.

"What the hell is that?" Ron whispered, as the wand-tip and the clock hands moved infinitesimally forward. Suddenly the darkness without a name shrank down to a tiny, coal-black point. The nebulous label became more solid, as if the darkness had been trying to hide it. Tiny letters flickered and formed into a name, clear and unmistakeable:

 _SEVERUS SNAPE_.

—  
 **Notes:**

 _Exhibeo Memoria_ — (roughly) show the past  
 _Desino_ — stop/pause  
 _Porro_ — go forward

Thanks for the encouraging reviews! Chapter 9, "Silver and Gold," will be posted August 13.


	10. Chapter 9--Silver and gold

**Chapter Nine: "Silver and gold"**

Through closed eyes, Hermione sensed the light of morning seeping through the blinds of her little flat. She'd had a nightmare, yet she couldn't quite remember it—only that she was glad to be safe in her own bed. She turned onto her back and stretched, feeling the mattress yield softly beneath her.

Time to get up, or she'd be late for work.

Hermione opened her eyes and froze in shock. No blinds, no mattress. No flat. A gloomy twilight penetrated a thick bowl of branches surrounding her, their leaves grey and dense and alien. Then a pale face swam out of the twilight, the face of her nightmare: Severus Snape, his black hair pulled severely back. He muttered something, and a dim silvery glow outlined his hand. In that light she saw that he was crouching over a rucksack.

"It's about time you were awake, Granger," he said, not looking at her, not apparently noticing her rigidity, her horror as all the memories of what had happened and where she was spilled back into her mind. She was in a hostile universe, with less than two days to get home . . . her only guide a dead man, a shadow of his former self, possibly insane and almost certainly dangerous.

No. This was not helping. She didn't have all the facts. She had to take each moment as it came. Hermione forced herself to take a ragged, calming breath.

 _At least I know how to defend myself._

She watched, shaking hands clenched into fists, as Snape pulled a small leathery looking bag out of his rucksack. Instead of horrors, out came two apples and a red chequered cloth. He opened the cloth to reveal two scones that smelled freshly baked and looked absolutely delicious. He took one and bit into it, chewing with evident pleasure. At last he glanced sideways at Hermione, who still hadn't moved.

"How many times, stupid girl, do I have to tell you the food is perfectly safe."

"I'm not hungry," she mumbled.

"Don't be idiotic," he snapped. "You'll need every ounce of strength." Then his voice lowered, grew taut. "You thought yesterday was dangerous? Today will be worse."

Suddenly her anger blazed. "Then tell me what I'm up against! Stop keeping so much from me!" She slammed a hand against the moss. "Why should I trust you?"

Hermione expected rage in return and was ready for it, almost wanting it. Yet Snape only laced his fingers together around his knees and stared at the ground. "Because I am the only one who can get you through the gateway," he said quietly. "Without my help, you have no chance. Without my help, you'll be trapped here for the rest of your life, at the mercy of a power too terrible to imagine."

At last he looked at her, and she was shocked by the bleakness in his eyes. "I think I have enough humanity left not to put you through that."

 _What about that woman? What did you promise her?_ But the questions choked in Hermione's throat and she dropped her gaze, flushing with anger and embarrassment. The woman hadn't been real—only a dream. She had to remember that.

After a moment, Snape sighed and reached for the water flask. He untwisted the stopper, sipped, then he held the flask out to Hermione. She took it, still without looking at him. After a day of travel the water should have been a bit stale, but it tasted wonderful. More than wonderful: magical, like pure liquid light from a waterfall of stars. When at last she lowered the flask, she felt infused with a force that seemed to push back against the gloom around her, making it less drear. When Shape pushed an apple and the other scone to her, she didn't have to be coaxed to eat. The apple's crisp sweetness flooded her mouth, and every bite of the scone melted on her tongue like butter. When Snape unstoppered the potion for treating her dizziness, the aroma of ginger and mint filled the air. "Three sips only," he cautioned. It tasted so good she had to force herself to obey.

"Ready?" said Snape, repacking his rucksack. At her nod he spread his arms wide, parting the thick branches so they could easily push their way out. Several more of the willow-like trees grew nearby as if keeping each other company, each separated by stony ground patched with black moss. Hermione couldn't see anything resembling the clearing where she had seen, or thought she'd seen . . . she frowned, remembering only wisps of the dream now, like night fog melting in the light of dawn. Looking up, she saw more sky than yesterday: a brilliant grey tinged with an uneasy green. But at the sight of that sky, she once again felt the crawling sensation of being watched by something, somewhere. Shuddering, she pulled her hood up and tightened her hands around the straps of her rucksack.

"These trees guard neutral ground. No denizen may harm another here," said Snape, his voice low. "But once we leave this grove, there are no more safe places. So be ready."

"For what?"

"Anything."

"Constant vigilance," she muttered, though whether that meant guarding herself against the unseen watchers or Snape, she wasn't certain. He flicked her a puzzled look, as if he recognized the words but wasn't sure where he'd heard them.

"Keep beside me when you can, and in front of me when the path narrows," he said. "Never behind me. Never stray from my sight."

"You said that yesterday," she muttered.

"Do you remember those bushes on the cliff top? The things resembling flowers?"

She said nothing, and Snape gave her a knife-like smile. "They grow here as well. Only larger."

"Oh."

As they left the willows behind, the air grew colder and darker. The trees thickened and soon crowded the path, an unfelt wind whispering through their black, bristly branches. The stony path was just wide enough for two, and though almost a head shorter than Snape, Hermione matched him stride for stride.

"Can you tell me more about what we're facing?" she said at last, a bit breathlessly. "Are there more of those—beasts?" She shuddered at the thought of another hunched thing shambling after them, sensing them with folds of leathery skin where its eyes should be.

"The _Belua_ ," said Snape dryly, " is a house pet compared to some of the forest's other denizens. The key is to keep your head and stay absolutely alert." Then he dropped his voice as if concerned someone might overhear. "If one spell doesn't work, think of another one. Fast. As you did yesterday against the sentinel, with some competence I might add. But _no wand_. Remember." For an eerie moment Hermione seemed to hear other words echoing behind his, words from her dream— _if she learns to marshal her powers here, the more you will gain_. She almost stumbled, losing her stride for a moment, and Snape frowned at her.

"I'm fine," she mumbled.

He looked at her sharply. "If you feel the dizziness returning, tell me. I can give you the potion as we walk. Don't be heroic. I'll have neither the time nor energy to carry you."

"I don't _expect_ you to carry me!"

His black eyes flickered. "That's just as well."

"As if I were," she went on, "some brainless Mills and Boon heroine."

"I have one or two memories of you from—before," he said reflectively, "and I can assure you 'brainless' does not spring to mind."

Hermione shot him a surprised glance, but Snape had eyes only for the dark path ahead, and he seemed disinclined to add anything further. She had to push herself to keep up with him and noticed that the path had gradually narrowed to the point where they had to walk shoulder to shoulder. Growing ominously close were ranks of tangled bushes; their ends sprouted lumpy greyish bulbs almost as large as Hagrid's fist. Some of the bushes stirred, the bulbs turning in their direction, following the two as they walked.

"Don't look," Snape whispered, "and don't slow down."

More bushes stirred, and Hermione heard a dry whispering, like wind through the ribcage of a desiccated corpse. Suddenly on a bush just ahead of them, one of the bulbs split apart, and she bit back a scream. Instead of petals, yellowish fangs surrounded a pistil like a black tongue. It lolled out, growing impossibly long as if it might reach them. Clear liquid dripped from its pointed tip.

"Move!" said Snape. He grabbed her arm and broke into a run, pulling her with him. Beside them and ahead of them, dozens more of the hideous flowers broke open. The dry whispering grew louder; it seemed almost to circle them like a maelstrom. _Just one taste. One bite. So sweet. Ohhh…_

Something touched her leg. This time she did scream.

"Keep running!" cried Snape.

"Wait! Wait!" Unthinkingly she reached for her wand, struggling to free her arm from Snape's grip.

"No wand!" he hissed in her face. As she reeled, he threw his left arm around her shoulders, holding her tight against him in the middle of the path, barely a couple of feet to spare on each side of them. The bushes roared as if ravaged by a gale, and around them champed a fury of fangs. Several of the longer tongues probed the edges of the path, their snake-like movements delicate, almost teasing. _One touch. One bite. Sooo sweeeeet. . ._

It was the hardest thing Hermione had ever done, but she stopped herself from pulling out her wand. The next hardest thing was to bite back the Protego Maximus spell that instinctively rose in her throat. Fixing her gaze on those lolling black tongues, she raised her right arm; from the way Snape shifted she knew he was doing the same thing. But what spell? Would Densaugio work again? No. Somehow she knew the forest would be prepared for that.

Without warning, power shocked through her. Even while she staggered with the force of it, she knew what she had to do.

" _Insurgo_!" As the cry left her mouth, she heard Snape shouting the same word at the same instant. From Hermione's raised hand leapt golden light; from his, silver. When the two streams of light met and intertwined, Hermione's world shifted, and in a heartbeat _she was Snape_ , looking through his eyes, seeing his hand limned in light, feeling his fierce exhilaration as power leapt from his hand and splintered into brilliant shards that fell like rain on their attackers. For one hideous moment she/he thought the spell might act normally, that the hungry flowers would keep growing. Then every black tongue pulled back, the fangs snapped shut, the grey petals collapsed back into bulbs. As if time were running backward with hideous speed, the bulbs shrank into tiny buds and vanished, the bushes un-growing until nothing remained of them but thin, black shoots barely above the ground.

As the light of their spell faded, Hermione swayed a bit on her feet, and they were _her_ feet; she was back within herself, looking out through her own eyes. Beside her, Snape stood, his hand still outstretched, his other arm still encircling her shoulders.

She took a long, shaky breath.

"What—what just happened?"

With an almost convulsive jerk, Snape dropped his arm and stepped away from her, eyeing the forest around them. But nothing stirred.

She pulled at his shoulder to make him look at her. "How did you know what I was going to say? What made our spells combine like that?" _And how was I able to see what you saw?_ _Feel what you felt?_ she couldn't bring herself to add. Because if she had, if that had really happened, it would mean the reverse was true, that he had

. . . felt _her_.

Snape pulled back. "We've bought some time," he said gruffly. "Let's not waste it."

They moved ahead, walking fast even though the path was barely visible in the queasy light that struggled through the dark branches. As the minutes passed and no fresh horrors emerged, Hermione found her thoughts spinning back to what had happened during the Insurgo spell. Coincidence? How could it have been? What were the odds of forging, together, one terrifically strong spell at the exact and necessary moment?

 _Could we do it again?_

On the other hand, if that meant she and Snape would have to share thoughts . . .

And if they did? Maybe then she would learn who abducted the two seventh-years. Maybe she would learn how to defend herself against the forces that slithered through this world, forces that might even threaten Hogwarts. She knew, just knew, that Snape was intimately familiar with those forces. She knew there were a hundred, a thousand, things he wasn't telling her, the least of which how he had survived Nagini's deadly bite.

Yet the prospect of crawling through the dead potions master's innermost thoughts terrified her.

* * *

Minerva McGonagall stared at the Marauder's Map, eyes narrowing behind her square spectacles as Harry demonstrated that the potions master's haunted apartments had apparently been visited by their former owner. The Map was spread over the headmistress's great desk, and the hands of the ornate clock Harry's spell had invoked were frozen at the exact moment of the incident: six minutes to midnight, five days ago.

"Impossible," she muttered. Harry couldn't blame her. Nothing so dark seemed possible on such a fine morning. For the first time in days it was sunny, and the tall windows of Dumbledore's old tower glowed with golden light. Tiny motes of dust danced in the brilliant beams, while the portraits drowsed in the cosy dimness beyond the sun's reach.

The night before in the staff room, after the label _SEVERUS SNAPE_ was swallowed by the strange darkness that had at first hidden it, Harry and Ron had simply stared at the Map. At last Harry had whispered, "Un. Fucking. Believable," and Ron had answered with a string of even viler curses, some so creative that Harry, despite himself, had been rather impressed. "It can't be Snape," Harry had insisted after they left the staff room. "But someone wants us to think it is." "A prank?" Ron had almost shouted. "If this is a prank, I'll personally throw whoever did it into Azkaban and eat the key." "If it's a prank," Harry had retorted, "I'll be ecstatic. But I have a feeling we're not going to get off that easily." "McGonagall," said Ron, hard-faced. "First thing tomorrow. She'll be in the Tower. Meet me at eight, bottom of the staircase."

At that they'd parted for the night, Harry reflecting with grim amusement that if they were still in their teens, they'd have gone charging into the dungeons then and there, serving no purpose other than putting McGonagall's strongest warding spells to the test.

Or so he told himself. But Harry hadn't rested well, to say the least. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw the dungeons. The long-neglected potions classroom. The locked door to the office. He'd forced himself to relax, making himself not see those things. He'd tried to think of Ginny, safe at home with their two little boys, but his thoughts veered to Hermione, lost in some realm he couldn't imagine . . . in some strange, twilit forest overhung with twisted trees. Strange how he could see it so clearly. It reminded him a little of the Forbidden Forest, though the trees looked wrong, grotesquely alive in a way that revolted him. Then without surprise, he saw Hermione beneath one of those trees, curled on her side like a child, tears trickling down her cheeks. Above her the branches stirred, began to reach toward her . . .

Harry had lurched upright in bed, gasping. A dream, but it rang with truth: he knew his old friend was alive but in terrible danger—somewhere unknown, somewhere he couldn't reach. He'd spent the rest of the night uneasily awake. Morning hadn't come early enough.

Now McGonagall looked up from the Map and removed her spectacles. Her eyes looked dull and tired, and Harry realized she must have had an even rougher night than he.

"Mr Potter." Even her voice, usually ringing with authority, seemed subdued. "The potions classroom, the storage room, and Professor Snape's old quarters have been off-limits and warded for years."

"Who can—" Harry began, but she overrode him.

"Only three people are able to unlock those wards: myself, the defence master, and the head of the Department of Magical Enforcement."

"When was the last time you were down there?" Harry persisted.

"The day Ms Fawcett and Mr Brar disappeared." The headmistress sighed, bowing her head, and Harry swallowed as from one breath to the next she seemed to diminish: just a bent old woman, struggling to carry a burden far beyond her years. "We checked all the wards as a precaution. Hagrid was with me, and neither of us saw signs of any disturbance in the dungeons. Mr Potter—" She looked up at Harry almost pleadingly "—consider who created the Map and why. _Up to no good._ Are you sure this isn't some sort of prank? Why should we trust it?"

"I trust it," said Harry quietly, "because the spell I used to take the Map back in time was created by someone you know well. Someone once called the brightest witch of her age."

McGonagall looked down, blinking, and silence fell over the room. Harry looked down at the Map again, and more for something to do than for any other reason, he whispered Hermione's spell to stop the time-progression. The Map shimmered as the clock-face vanished, then the lines and labels settled into the present time.

Then he frowned. A black smudge had appeared in the old potions classroom. As he stared in growing horror, the smudge grew larger until it seemed to fill the room.

"Look!" he shouted. "It's happening again! Now!"

Ron shouldered past Harry to peer at the Map as McGonagall rose to her feet, eyes hard, her back wand-straight.

"Go, both of you, and guard the door. I'll get Hagrid."

They barrelled into the old potions classroom—the light blazing from their wands scattering shadows into the corners—and made for the thick oaken door at the front. Harry remembered to stop before crashing into the ward, which extended five feet beyond the door. Ron didn't, and the ward knocked him off his feet. He went sprawling.

"Ahh—fuck!"

Without a word, Harry helped Ron up just as heavy footsteps came pounding up behind them. A moment later Hagrid burst into the classroom, followed quickly by McGonagall. The men made way for her as she approached the door, her face grim and drawn. Taking out her wand, she whirled the tip back and forth in a dizzying pattern while whispering a string of words. Try as he might, Harry couldn't quite make out the sequence, but when the headmistress finished, the air around the door glowed red.

After a second or two the glow vanished, and McGonagall stepped back a pace. "A simple opening spell should work now," she said tersely.

Harry glanced at Ron, and they both raised their wands.

" _Alohomora_!" As Harry's spell reverberated, Hagrid shouldered forward and hit the door with his shoulder. It burst inward so violently it slammed against the stone wall behind. As the half-giant bulldozed into the smaller room, Harry and Ron came in right behind him, wands out, their tips blazing with light.

"Bloody hell!" cried Ron, and even Hagrid lurched to a stop, bewildered. A black, viscous mass the size of a large doorway twisted in the middle of the room. Harry couldn't make out what it was—one second it seemed solid; the next, a vortex, or a tunnel stretching to infinity. Its profound darkness swallowed up the light from their wands, swallowed up all light. As he drew breath to shout out a freezing spell, a vicious wind lashed out of the vortex. He and Ron staggered back, and even Hagrid rocked on his feet, blinking.

Then—nothing. The air fell utterly still and silent. It was as if they'd gone deaf.

"What just happened?" Ron whispered.

Minerva McGonagall came through the door, her eyes blazing with eagerness or fury—Harry couldn't tell. "I saw no one," she said. "You?"

The other three shook their heads.

"Nothing. Only that black thing, whatever it was," said Ron. He sounded disgusted.

McGonagall turned slowly, surveying the entire room, and for the first time Harry noticed how untidy it looked. The shelves were half empty and the remaining items looked askew, as if someone had picked them up and put them back any which way. Books and papers littered the floor, and Harry thought of the vicious wind whipping out of the twisting blackness before it disappeared.

McGonagall had stopped moving. Now she faced the only wall not covered with shelving and raised her wand. " _Exhibio_!" From her wand-tip a silvery bubble emerged. When it had grown to the size of a child's balloon, she flicked it off her wand-tip. It splashed against the wall and flattened out against the stone, coating it with a silvery shimmer. A moment later, the shimmering resolved into a silver-lit view of the empty room from the wall's vantage point. To Harry, it looked as if a CCTV had been mounted there.

"Now perhaps we'll see," McGonagall murmured. For a few moments nothing changed. Then suddenly the silvery image dimmed and blurred, washing out like a chalk drawing in the rain. McGonagall frowned.

"I don't understand," she said. "If the surface facing the incident is clear, then the image should be as well."

"Some kind of distortion," said Harry.

"No accident, I reckon," said Ron, his voice hard.

They peered at the wall a minute or two longer as if hoping it would clear up. At last, with a sigh, McGonagall banished the screen.

Hagrid scratched his massive, hairy head. "Yeh think it was Snape?" he asked.

Harry shook his head, shrugging. "The Map says so. Yeah, I know—" he gave a rueful laugh. "It seems impossible."

"Let's say it was Snape." Hagrid's tone was thoughtful. "Mebbe he has reasons teh hide the fact he's still alive. Mebbe he doesn't want anyone teh know he's visitin'." As Harry snapped his head around to stare at him, the half-giant added with a shrug, "There could be advantages ta bein' dead. Maybe he prefers ta stay tha' way."

"Then what Diana said about the black man—" Ron whispered. He stopped himself, swallowing.

An appalled silence fell. At last McGonagall said, "Whoever or whatever was in this room, it's able to get past our best wards."

"Sweet Merlin," said Ron. He had gone pale, his freckles standing out in the witch-light. "The kids. They can't stay here."

McGonagall turned to face Ron and Harry, her face stony.

"That will be my decision, and mine alone."

Ron's mouth thinned. "But how long can we keep them safe without help? Without reinforcements?"

"Ron's right, Headmistress," said Harry quietly. "We need to talk to Arthur Weasley."

* * *

The pathway abruptly narrowed to single file, and the trees Hermione thought of as "pine" seemed to thicken and darken, casting around them a gloom deeper than night. By unspoken consent, she and Snape slowed until they reached the point they could no longer walk side by side without touching. There they stopped, as if on the edge of an invisible border. Hermione peered ahead, but she couldn't see the path. Even the nearest tree trunks were barely visible. It was as if she were standing at the lip of a cave in which the worst thing she could possibly imagine was lurking, its eyes half-open, kindling with hunger. Shivers ran up the back of her neck and raised the fine hairs on her arms, and her heart began to race.

"Another sentinel," said Snape. "Somewhat more powerful than the one we encountered yesterday."

She swallowed. "There's something horrible in that forest."

He met her eyes for a moment. "Don't lose your head, Granger. Be prepared for anything."

"Yes. Right."

Snape hesitated. Then, unexpectedly, he pulled the water-flask from the side-pocket of his rucksack, unstoppered it, and handed it to her. The water still tasted as miraculously fresh and cold as if scooped from a mountain stream. When she finished and handed back the flask, she felt stronger. Not courageous, exactly, but as if she carried a light that no darkness could quite smother.

Snape took a few sips himself and put the flask away. For a moment longer they stood at the sentinel's border, and Hermione felt his left hand, firm and warm, curling around her upper arm. Then together they stepped forward, and the darkness wrapped itself around them.

* * *

 **Note:**

 _Insurgo_ — increase, grow

Thank you trickster32 and FrancineHibiscus for your reactions. You're right about the challenges Hermione faces (and by the way, I appreciate the reference to Pandora's box!). Chapter 10, "A shadow limned in light," will see Hermione tested further in (perhaps) an unexpected way. It will be posted August 16.

Saamon-sama and "Guest," thank you for letting me know you're enjoying the writing. That means a lot!


	11. Chapter 10--A shadow limned in light

**Chapter Ten: "A shadow limned in light"**

The darkness was so thick Hermione felt as if she might smother in it. She looked up, eyes straining for even the dimmest patch of sky. Nothing. It was as if she'd been struck blind. She heard her own quick breathing, shockingly loud. _No. Mustn't panic._ Snape's hand still gripped her upper arm. Hermione focused on the reality of that grip and on the path beneath her feet, the crunch of small stones beneath her boots.

She felt a tiny shift of movement from Snape, and an instant later his hand emerged from the dark, outlined in silvery light. Hermione held out her left hand, but nothing happened. Biting her lip, she imagined darkness birthing light, and a moment later a golden glow spilled from her fingers like heavy water. While Snape held his hand high like a torch, casting an icy glow on the branches above, her light dripped to the ground, outlining stones and cracks in the earth and casting the bottoms of the tree trunks in faint gold.

If it hadn't been for the smothering fear, the sense of being watched by something ancient and terribly hungry, Hermione might have enjoyed the effect of their commingled light. The way ahead looked delicately beautiful, like something out of a fairyland theme-park. She glanced at Snape and was startled to see he was looking at her, his expression perfectly neutral. The dim glow was kind to the harsh lines of his face; it made the thin mouth more austere than bitter, the eyes less bleak. Whereas she . . .

 _Sweet Merlin; I must look horrible._ When was the last time she'd brushed her hair, let alone washed?

Self consciously, Hermione shifted her gaze to her arm, around which Snape's fingers were still firmly wrapped. With a sound that might have been a wry chuckle, he dropped his hand.

"Shall we?" he murmured.

Side by side they walked, the gold and silver light travelling with and ahead of them, threading through the soil and stones of the path ahead and frosting the branches above. Hermione concentrated grimly on not thinking about light as much as thinking about holding back the darkness, setting a limit on its encroachment. From the tension in Snape's shoulders, she felt he was doing something similar. It was hard work, this chaotic magic. She wondered how long they could keep it up. At one point, pulled by curiosity, she threw a quick glance over her shoulder and immediately she wished she hadn't. Only a few steps behind the blackness stalked them, obliterating every sign of the path they'd just trod. Shivering, she moving almost unconsciously closer to Snape. Their arms almost brushed, and she sensed rather than saw his quick glance.

"Are you all right?" he said, yet he sounded strangely distant and muffled, as if behind a thick door.

"Yeah." She frowned, realizing her voice also sounded dead and flat.

"Just keep doing what you're doing." She looked at him, alarmed by the sudden harshness in his voice. His teeth were clenched; a thin sheen of sweat coated his forehead. He looked like a man in pain. He caught her gaze and shook his head once, sharply. "Focus, Granger! Focus."

She knew too that something moved out there in the darkness, something only feet away, waiting—just waiting—for their focus to blur, their concentration to slip, their light to fade. She looked at her palm and saw to her horror that the dripping golden light looked dimmer. _You are not making light. You are holding back darkness._ But it was so hard, and now she was starting to gasp. Her arm shook with the effort of holding it up, and her mind was flailing to think of something, anything to strengthen the light.

Unbidden came a memory from her Muggle life, of words she'd last heard at a funeral for one of her mother's closest friends: _Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me._ The "thou" who walked with her in these shadows would have dismayed the members of her mother's churchy circle. But he was all she had. She could feel his intensity, his entire body almost vibrating with the effort to cast light, and tried desperately to match his focus.

Suddenly Snape threw his left hand out in front of her, and she stumbled to a halt.

"What?" she gasped. Without a word, he pointed to their right. A dim red glow seeped through the trees, silhouetting the bent tree trunks and twisted branches. The glow might have been an old dying fire, the last breath of coals before they turned to ash, but it didn't flicker or waver. Hermione held her breath, but she heard no sound.

"What is it?"

Snape let out an uneven breath. "We've entered Eznerif's realm." Then to Hermione's shock, he lowered his right hand, fist clenched, silver light squeezing between his fingers—dimming, going out. Gone. Now their only source of light spilled in slow, golden drops from her left palm.

"From this point on, we can't afford to be seen." His voice was a low hiss. "Douse your light."

"What? But what about—behind us?" she whispered and at once felt awkward at sounding so childish. Perhaps she was only imagining the darkness gathering force behind them: waiting, just waiting, for her light to die.

Snape looked at her without a trace of derision. That alone told her that whatever she'd sensed dogging their heels, it wasn't imaginary. Not at all.

"Given a choice between what lies ahead and what lies behind," Snape said, and the bleakness in his voice made her shiver, "We're better off with the latter. _Douse your light_."

She began to close her fist, hesitating as her light flickered. "Do it," he whispered. With great reluctance Hermione closed her fist, and the last drops of golden light fell from her palm to the ground.

Darkness. Hermione hardly dared to breathe. The skin of her neck and back crawled as she tried not to think of what might be approaching them from behind. After a while, she realized there was light after all: a dim red glow through the trees, just enough to show nearby trees and a faint suggestion of the pathway winding ahead of them.

Hermione realized her hand was wrapped around Snape's upper arm. She didn't remember reaching for him. He gave no sign of objecting—even of noticing.

"Slowly. Quietly," he whispered.

They walked as if on thin ice, one foot in front of the other. On their right, black trees hulked against the lurid glow; on their left, each trunk was limned by a thin strip of blood-coloured light. Hermione decided it was best to concentrate on her feet, on the soft crunching of fine stones beneath her boots. There was no other sound. Except—she raised her head, frowning, as a strange tremor moved the air, as if from a sound too low for human hearing. Alarmed, she looked rightward. The red glow now pulsed with a slow, regular rhythm—from bright, to dim, to bright. It reminded her of . . .

Something breathing. She tried to push the thought away, but it refused to budge.

"What is that?"

"Eznerif's kin. I was hoping they'd stay asleep. But something has awoken them. Which means—" he hesitated "—they will want to feed."

Hermione swallowed, her throat dry. "In that case," she managed, "I'd rather not stay for the pudding."

Snape let out a quick, soft chuff of breath, like a smothered laugh. She looked at him sharply, but saw no trace of amusement on his sharp-planed face.

"If they were still asleep," he said, his voice so soft she could barely hear, "we might have been able to stay on the path—skirt past them. Now we no longer have that option."

Letting go of his arm, Hermione turned slowly to face the red-limned trunks on their left. "Are you saying we have to go through those trees?"

"The sooner, the better." Snape grasped her elbow and began steering her off the path.

All her instincts shrieked that the deeper they moved into the forest, the more aware the forest would become, the more alive, and not in a way that meant any good to those who breathed and walked on two legs. Or used magic.

Magic. "When you were here before," she whispered, "what spells did you use? Maybe we can use them again—"

"No. We can't." His mouth bit down on each word.

"Why?"

"I've never before walked this path. I have no arsenal of spells. But even if I did, I wouldn't be able to rely on them. Now _move_." Snape stepped off the path and pulled her with him with almost brutal force. Hermione lurched as she tried to sidestep clusters of protruding tree roots. In the uncertain light, they reminded her of knobby fingers digging into the black soil. She stubbed a toe against a particularly large root, thick and gnarled, and for one sick moment she thought it twitched, as if angry at being disturbed.

Or hungry.

"Best not to touch those," Snape said tersely.

 _How would he know that? He hasn't been here before._

 _Or so he says._

As if reading Hermione's thoughts, the tree branches around them made a shivering sound, and several of the roots shifted slightly out of the earth as though being pulled by an invisible hand. She felt a movement by her left foot. Stifling a shriek, she tried to leap back and would have fallen if it hadn't been for Snape's steadying arm.

He thrust his face close to hers. "For chaos sake." Despite the fury in his eyes, his voice was cold and flat, a pedant explaining a simple formula to a dunderhead. "We may have a hope in hell of getting through this if you stop resisting me every inch of the way!" He shook her slightly. "Angry? Afraid? Fine. Just don't show it." And she knew he was right, that somehow the dark energy of her rage and fear would infuse these trees with a hideous life.

As they picked their way through the roots, Snape just ahead, Hermione concentrated on watching his feet and making sure hers followed exactly. Despite his heavy boots he moved with surprising grace, side-stepping roots with ease. She had to work hard to do the same; the lurid red glow sliding like oil over the roots made it difficult to see clearly. It was also getting harder to breathe, even to lift each foot. She focused all her energy on not falling.

A sound like a low rumble of thunder shivered the air. The trees shifted, their branches grating together, and Hermione felt the earth shake beneath her feet. Snape hissed an oath and quickened his pace almost to a lope. Too fast. She couldn't keep up. As she stumbled, his arm whipped out like a snake, grasping hers and pulling her along relentlessly.

"What—what is that?" she gasped.

"Shut up and move, Granger!"

Hermione's entire world shrank down to her feet, putting one in front of the other even though each felt as if it were encased in stone. To her lungs, which seemed on fire. To a narrow slit of vision, tree trunks and twisting roots. Then she stumbled. This time Snape didn't catch her, and she fell to her knees amongst the roots, the hungry roots. She closed her eyes, panting, unable to move, knowing Snape would leave her behind, knowing she was going to die. The ground shook again, and a sudden wind ripped the air to shreds around her.

A hard, sinewy arm half-lifted, half-dragged her upright, then she felt herself being shoved through an opening so narrow it squeezed her shoulders and painfully scraped her cheek. The arm pushed her back against a hard, irregular surface—it felt like knobs gouging into her back—and a body squeezed himself up against her, squashing her left arm. Hermione heard and felt Snape's quick breath, almost in her ear. She squirmed, trying to free her arm, trying to see. A faint reddish glow seeped in through a long, vertical crack, just enough light to pick out what looked like rough edges of bark. A strong smell rose around them, dark and earthy.

She and Snape were crammed inside a hollow tree. She could barely breathe.

Snape shifted his body, and the pressure mercifully eased. Hermione felt and heard him slide his rucksack off his shoulders, then she felt the water flask being pressed into her hands. "Two sips. Quickly," he said, moving so the light from the crack in the trunk slid down the sharp lines of cheekbone and nose; made black hollows of his eyes. Without a word she obeyed, and as the cold water slid down her throat she felt energy and purpose infuse her body, the weariness that had overcome her earlier dropping away like an old robe. At last she passed the flask back to Snape and as he drank, watched in wonder as strength seemed to flow into him as well.

"Interesting water," Hermione said, keeping her tone neutral. "If it's actually water."

He gave her a long, measuring look as he stoppered the flask.

"I'd like to know its properties," she added.

"Not the best time for a potions lesson, Granger." He shoved the flask back into the pocket of his rucksack.

Outside their hiding place, the red glow flared into brightness, and the air reverberated with a deep, thunderous rumble—the loudest yet. Through the crack, Hermione saw black branches whipping about as if lashed by a terrible wind, and even their tree, which she understood must be safe or at least not malignant, shifted restlessly around them, as if its roots strained to pull out of the ground.

"What is that?"

"Eznerif's kin. They're on the hunt." Snape moved in front as if to shield her, pressing her a bit harder into the tree's hollow back. As she twisted so she could see past him, he hissed in her ear, "Quiet! Don't move!"

Four-legged shapes burst through the thrashing trees: one, three, five, then a dozen or more. Each had the sleek body and graceful legs of a racehorse, the sculpted torso and muscular arms of a Greek statue, and long flowing hair. _Centaurs_ , Hermione thought dazedly. _Why are we hiding from centaurs?_ As they drew closer, she saw that each centaur carried a slender black pole topped by a red-lit globe, dimming and flaring with the same disturbing rhythm she had noticed earlier. Their faces grew more distinct, and when at last Hermione saw them clearly she shoved her fist against her mouth to stifle a moan of horror and grief. Their features were gross, misshapen, like clay sculpted by a maniac. Red eyes burned like coals under massively protruding brows. Mouths gaped wider than any mouth should, as if on hinges, and yellowish snake-like fangs dripped greenish saliva. The contrast between such brutish faces, alive with mindless hunger, and the sleek, muscular beauty of their bodies could not have been more hideous.

Centaurs, as they were in this universe.

Sickness rose in Hermione's throat even as her heart broke at seeing such mutilation, such perversion.

One of the centaur-things slid to a skidding stop outside their tree, hooves flashing. Unlike the others, it wore a collar of large, white, irregular stones, looking in the fitful light like the skulls of small creatures. He—no, not he, _it—_ threw up its head, wide, flabby nostrils flaring.

"Eznerif," Snape whispered. "The rest follow him."

The centaur-thing opened its mouth, upper and lower fangs spreading apart like a metal snare, and gave a low, grating bellow. Instantly, its kin halted and circled around the leader, adding their own bellows. The air shivered with the sound. Stamping restlessly in their midst, the leader drew a long serrated knife out of a leather scabbard at his side. The blade, the length of Hermione's arm, looked blood-drenched in the lurid light. With delicate, almost dance-like steps, the centaur-thing moved closer to the tree, its kin crowding close behind. Some of them also brandished knives.

Hermione didn't realize she had stopped breathing, that her left hand was clamped in a death grip around Snape's right wrist, until he gently pulled his arm away. Then to her astonishment, he took that hand, his fingers twining through hers. "Focus with me," he murmured. "Focus." She twisted to look up at him, jaw dropping, but his eyes were closed, his mind on something far beyond the confines of the hollow tree. Even though every instinct screamed otherwise, Hermione closed her eyes as well, and almost immediately she felt her arm begin to tingle, a warmth suffusing their joined hands and travelling down toward the core of her. For the first time since being pulled into this alien world, she felt pure power taking shape within her, a power unsullied by this place, a power all hers. No, not just hers: Snape's. She felt it rising through his body through the living fuse of their joined hands.

Hermione turned her head, and through the magic shimmering between and around them she saw not a damaged man she couldn't yet trust but a shadow limned in light, a door beginning to open, a heart not yet irreparably broken. Then she saw past him, through the ugly skin of this universe and the coarse grains of its substance to the quantum realm, where the laws of its operation were almost visible, shimmering with weird possibility, waiting for magic to shift them from probability to certainty. She closed her eyes, concentrating fiercely. It had to be just the right touch; she had only a breath of time (too tiny to measure) to borrow massive amounts of energy from the quanta before they dispersed wildly.

Something shifted, as if the very air moved.

Hermione opened her eyes. Even though around her she still sensed the darkness and safety of the hollow tree, at the same time she and Severus were outside, floating, looking down at Eznerif and his kin as if she were floating several feet above them. She felt a burst of incredulous triumph that after so many failures, her long, lonely exploration of quantum magic had not been for nothing. But as Severus's hand tightened around hers, she knew she would never been able to muster enough power alone. _Was that why I kept failing before?_

"With me," she heard Severus say, and she knew what she, what they, needed to do. She looked down into Eznerif's red eyes, blazing with hunger and bitter despair, and extended her right hand toward the despoiled centaur, visualizing the truth beneath the perversion, gathering and focusing the power humming through their bodies.

A sphere of pure blue brilliance flared from their joined hands and blazed through the dark trees: a blue so transcendent, so impossible, that trying to remember it later brought tears to Hermione's eyes. The sphere slowly spread out until it touched the surrounding trees, flattening into a disc that spread over the centaurs' heads like a shield.

Eznerif's lips wrinkled back in a snarl and his advancing kin faltered, tossing their heads at the light. One by one the sullen red globe-lights dimmed; the murder drained from each brutish face. In one smooth motion Hermione and Severus lowered their joined hands, and the disc of brilliant blue light folded like a silken sheet over the heads of Eznerif's kin. Dropping their light poles and knives, they flailed at the light as if it were fire scorching their flesh. Beautiful bodies reared, hooves slashed. Some at the rear of the cluster broke away from under the disc and fled. The rest of the kin gradually stilled, calmed as the light closed in upon them, sealing them within a brilliant blue shield.

Then the light exploded. Hermione recoiled, eyes shut tight. When at last the blaze against her eyelids dimmed, she opened her eyes to feel her feet once again on the ground, rough wood against her back. Through the crack in the truck she saw the centaur-things had vanished. Only their light-poles remained, scattered over the forest floor like dead stalks.

"Are they—what happened to them?" Her voice shook.

"I don't believe they're dead," whispered Severus, and abruptly she was focused on him, on his solidity. More than that: on the startling sensation of a man pressing against her, shoulder to knee. His coat was open; she felt the febrile heat of skin through his shirt and his breath, hot and hard against her neck. A loose strand of his hair tickled her face. He smelt of sweat and the astringent tang of magic's aftermath. Not unpleasant. And not (a schoolgirl part of her couldn't help thinking) at _all_ greasy.

Dazed, she waited for him to pull back. He didn't move. As heartbeat followed heartbeat, she closed her eyes, hardly daring to breathe. The magic, she thought dazedly: it had melded them again, even more powerfully than during the Abundo spell. Quantum weirdness—two particles bonded even if separated by an entire universe.

She told herself she should pull away. _Now._

A treacherous memory bubbled up: Ron on top of her, all knees and elbows and not much technique, wet kisses reminding her of an overgrown puppy. He'd tried to be considerate, and though she'd gotten used to his lovemaking and even pretended she liked it because, after all, this was her husband and childhood friend, she was always secretly glad when he finished. But the feel of this man's body, hard against hers, was beyond any experience. Yearning shocked through her like electricity.

 _I want . . . I want._

And _he_ felt . . . a shiver of shock and pleasure at the feel of a woman's body pressing against him, warm fingers laced through his, the smoky, earthy smell of her wild hair. He felt her lips move against his skin, tracing lines of warmth on the skin of his neck, along his jaw. For what seemed like a century he held himself rigid, and she knew he was telling himself to release her, pull back, douse this strange, unconscionable yearning with cold irony. Because if he

didn't . . .

Too late, for Hermione brushed his lips with hers, her mouth barely touching. Severus kept still, his mouth unyielding, until her tongue probed his lips with a quick flutter. That gentle touch undid him; the closed door opened. With a half-groan, half-laugh he opened his mouth against hers.

And _she_ felt . . . his firm lips; the quick, darting moves of his tongue, sweeter and more sensuous than anything she could have imagined. Her entire body clenched with need, a great silent shout of joy. Without breaking their kiss, he loosened his fingers from hers, only to cup both his hands around her jaw and kiss her more deeply, if that were even possible, and yet it was. She opened her mouth and drank him in, pulling him against her, her thighs hard against him, and she heard him growl deep in his throat.

Memory, unbidden and unstoppable: green slitted eyes, a lush mouth tasting bittersweet as poison, arms winding around him so tight he could hardly breathe.

As the woman's image flooded her mind, Hermione's eyes flared open in shock. At the same time Severus wrenched his mouth from hers and shoved her away from him so hard she staggered against the inner wall of the hollow tree. Her entire body was shaking; she braced her palms against the rough wood to stop it. She couldn't look at Severus. No: _Snape_.

As if from a great distance she heard him pick up both their rucksacks and push himself out through the narrow cleft.

Silence, then—"It's safe. Come out." His voice sounded jagged.

With a shuddering breath, Hermione squeezed herself out into the clearing. Remnants of translucent blue light still clung to the trunks and branches, but even as she looked it grew dimmer, steeping in shadow the face of the man beside her.

Without a word, Snape passed Hermione her rucksack. He raised his right hand, and it seemed to her the ball of cold light hovering over his palm was tinged faintly with green.

"Are you ready?" At last he looked. He had never looked more forbidding: his gaze black and bitter, the sickly glow of his light carving harsh lines into a deadly pale face. The magic was gone; the door once again locked tight.

Hermione raised her chin and met those hard eyes.

"I won't take another step," she said quietly, "until you tell me the truth."

His gaze didn't flicker, as if he knew what she was going to say next.

"Who is the woman in the green cloak?"

* * *

 **Note:**

Thanks so much for your reviews! trickster32, I appreciate the comparison to Pan's Labyrinth. Later on I'll share my main inspiration for this twisted world. FrancineHibiscus, yes, Snape gave up many of his memories to Harry in the Shrieking Shack just before he "died." I think this raises interesting questions about who he is _now_. mak5258, thank you! I'm very glad you're enjoying the back-and-forth; more of that to come. Saamon-sama, hang on! ;-)

Chapter 11, "Darkness visible," will be posted August 20.


	12. Chapter 11--Darkness visible

**Chapter Eleven: "Darkness visible"**

McGonagall had sequestered herself in her office and spoken to Arthur Weasley by Floo: a conversation not even Hagrid, Harry, or Poppy Pomfrey were privy to. Orders must have gone out in record time, for less than two hours later a steady stream of "tradespeople" were discreetly Apparating—singly or in pairs—to a secluded spot not far from Hogwarts' gates. After being admitted by Hagrid, each outsider joined the Hogwarts melting-cauldron in a variety of guises meant to arouse no suspicion whatsoever. There were several gardeners (Harry saw one hacking away inexpertly at the roses), a handful of annoyed looking lavatory attendants, a couple of dilapidated visiting scholars hunched over piles of books in the library's Forbidden Section, a scattering of "inspectors" from the Department of Magical Education taking fake notes at the backs of classes, and—much to Ron's irritation—two young Aurors posing as Quidditch coaches-in-training. "I bloody well hope they're better Aurors than Quidditch players," he muttered to Harry as they filed into the Great Hall for lunch. "They can barely tell the difference between a Quaffle and a Snitch. Not promising."

By mid-afternoon Hogwarts was infiltrated by undercover Aurors lurking in corners, working very hard to make sure the students failed to notice them. On the other hand Harry couldn't disguise his own celebrity presence and saw no point in trying. Evidently McGonagall had come to the same conclusion; in the Great Hall, the faculty table sported an empty chair just in from Ron's seat at the end, with HARRY POTTER inscribed on a place-card. Of course it took only moments for the inevitable tsunami of awe to roll through the student masses. Harry bobbed up and waved modestly when, at the end of a few brief and routine announcements, the Headmistress welcomed "one of the great heroes of our age." Though lunch was delicious (as food always was at Hogwarts), Harry tasted little of it. He was far too busy deflecting what could have been a troublesome barrage of questions from the sharp-minded Madam Sinistra, sitting on his right, who seemed convinced that Harry's visit had something to do with the Interdiction over the Forbidden Forest. Or with Hermione Weasley, about whom some disturbing rumours were circulating.

Harry went on the offensive: focusing all his attention on Sinistra, talking almost non-stop through the beef course about all the advanced classes he would have to visit while he was here and how each professor wanted him to give an inspiring little talk; about how many autographs he'd have to sign, especially since he didn't have a Quick-Quotes Quill, he'd left it at home—and by the way, did she know he and Ginny had two boys now? He'd brought pictures . . . where were they? . . . he just had to dig them out of his bum-bag here . . .

At that, the Arithmancy professor favoured Harry with a cold smile, said she would be delighted to see his pictures later but had a lot of fourth-year tests to mark, and made a bee-line for the nearest exit. As the main course plates vanished and clean plates for the pudding course appeared in their place, Harry turned to Ron. His old friend was moodily contemplating a ten-layered, multicoloured trifle in an enormous cut-glass bowl.

"Sweet Merlin, I thought she'd never leave," Harry murmured, aware that Flitwick—sitting only two places down—was throwing occasional interested glances their way. He reckoned the clatter filling the Great Hall would provide enough cover, but hoped the Charms professor couldn't read lips.

"I had no idea you could be such a crashing bore, mate," said Ron. "Should I feel sorry for Ginny?" He scooped some trifle into a small bowl and took a spoonful, staring at it.

"Nah. She'd have been rolling on the floor," said Harry, grinning.

Ron didn't smile back. He swallowed the spoonful of trifle and said reflectively, "That thing in the dungeons. We have no idea what it is, do we? What it is we're fighting. You'd think Hermione of all people would've known. But this fucking thing just _snatched_ her. That scares the living shit out of me." Then Ron's voice sank. "Did you know what her real job was?"

"Muggle Affairs."

" _Officially_. Unofficially, she was with the D.O.M."

"The Department of Mysteries?"

"Yeah," said Ron gloomily. "Something about defensive magic. That's all she told me." His expression darkened. "Except her supervisor was a cow—calling her in at all hours. . ." He shot Harry a sharp, almost jealous look. "Did she tell _you_ anything?"

When Harry had met Hermione for drinks a couple of times after her separation, she'd said it was good to know she still had one friend left. But one time she'd drunk a bit too much and banged on about something called quantum magic. As they'd left the pub, she'd seemed really distressed. _Don't tell_ _anyone_ _what I told you. Not even Ginny. Promise?_ Well, a promise was a promise. And what good would it do Ron for Harry to admit he'd talked to his ex?

"Nothing really, mate," he said carefully. "But Hermione working for the D.O.M. isn't much of a surprise, is it?"

"I guess not. But I was hoping you'd have some idea what she was doing. Exactly."

Harry met Ron's eyes. "I don't have that kind of clearance, Ron. I didn't have it even as an Auror." He gave a hard smile. "I was considered too valuable an asset. The less I knew, the better. Fucking ironic."

Ron looked at him for a few more seconds, then dropped his gaze. He leaned back in his chair and began poking at the soggy remains of trifle in his bowl.

"D'you miss it, Harry?" he said quietly. "Being an Auror?"

Harry cleared his throat. "I don't miss Ginny worrying about me all the time. I was too tempting a target. This way—well, it's better for her and the boys."

 _What about Hermione? Do you miss her?_ But that was a question Harry could never ask, not if he wanted his oldest friendship to survive.

Meanwhile, Ron had pounded his trifle into a sodden pile of multicoloured goo. "Do you think?" he said, "that what happened ten years ago might happen again?"

"Whoa." Harry shook his head. "This isn't a battle, mate."

Ron's eyes blazed suddenly. "Maybe not yet. But here we are again, putting kids at risk." He shook his head, and Harry knew he was thinking about his brother Fred, killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. "We should be evacuating this pile. We should get everyone the fuck out of here."

"And alert every Dark practitioner from here to Russia that something's rotten at Hogwarts?"

"Mr Potter. Mr Weasley."

Both men turned, startled. Minerva McGonagall stood behind them, looking grave.

"Could you both see me in my office." She swept away.

From his perch three seats down the table, Flitwick raised his eyebrows at Harry and Ron. "Not in trouble again, are you?" he said, his tone laced with amusement.

* * *

"Who is that woman in the green cloak?" Hermione's voice shook, though she wanted desperately to sound hard as stone.

As Snape stared at her, the last of the transcendent blue light they had conjured together flickered and died. Black swallowed the forest; now their only source of light flared silver-green from his palm.

"We have to move," he said, low and tense.

"No. I want the truth."

Snape lifted his palm, casting a glow on tree trunks several yards away. Beyond that pale pool of light a thick darkness had devoured the surrounding forest. It inched toward them, and madly Hermione found herself thinking of a phrase she'd picked up from her voluminous reading: Darkness Visible. A darkness deeper than all evil. Something about the slow undulations of its oily surface conveyed a hideous intelligence, as if it were savouring their fear.

As if, Hermione couldn't help thinking, it was moving so slowly because it _felt_ like it.

"If we don't move now," Snape said thinly, "we'll be dead in seconds. _Run!_ "

His shout broke her paralysis. As she turned to flee, a ball of blazing green-white light exploded from Snape's right hand and spread out behind them, casting long, twisted shadows of their running figures against the gnarled trees ahead. She heard Snape beside her, his breath harsh and his black coat flapping. She turned her head for a heartbeat to look at him, at the stream of green-white light arcing from him like a comet's tail. When she looked ahead again, their twisted shadows seemed less pronounced, dimmer, as if—no. She almost stumbled, quickly caught herself, snatched another brief look at Snape to see his face strained with fatigue, his chest heaving. . . and the light he cast growing dimmer by the second.

" _Nox!_ " he gasped. " _Nox Profundis!_ " But Hermione knew, as clearly as if written on a chalkboard, that the Darkness Visible hulking up behind them would eat that spell for breakfast. They were far beyond Snape's realm now, beyond any possibility that "law of opposites" might hold. She knew what was needed: enough power to blow that Darkness into shards of chaos.

Quantum magic.

 _Using a wand here is like sending up the Dark Mark there_. _Never use your wand._

But in her D.O.M. lab, hunched over her bench near the eleven globes, she had never tested those spells _without_ a wand.

They had stumbled to a near-stop. Gasping, Snape went down on one knee, one trembling arm outstretched. But his pool of light was shrinking raggedly, its twilit edges rippling with black tentacles, and just beyond it Hermione sensed a vast, oily mountain of darkness rearing up, ready to strike. Her breath coming in terrified gulps, she let Snape go and in one fast, liquid movement drew her wand out of her left sleeve.

The equations. She had to get them right. She raised her wand straight above her head, seeing the numbers and symbols scroll incandescently before her mind's eye. With her wand-tip, she traced each one, gritting her teeth to keep her hand steady.

"No! Stop!" cried Snape. Distantly she felt him trying to grab her, but she stepped away from him, toward the approaching Darkness. Then from her moving wand tip exuded a small circle of pearly light, irregular and wavering. As the light expanded, Hermione swept her wand in a great circle, like a hand moving around the face of a clock only she could see. As she drew the circle, it seemed to both flatten and deepen: a disc one moment, an endless tunnel the next. She heard Snape shouting— _What are you doing? Stop!_ —but that didn't matter; nothing mattered except bringing her wand back to twelve o'clock, which was now the apex of an opaque, pearlescent aperture large enough for a human to step through. Then she began to move her wand-tip in tiny circles, like winding spaghetti onto a fork. A black tendril extruded from beyond the circle and wrapped itself almost tentatively around the tip of her wand. She drew more of the blackness toward her (grimacing with a disgust she couldn't help), twisting her wand, gathering more and more blackness around its tip, enthralling the Darkness Visible like a snake charmer hypnotizing a cobra.

At last a thick, rope-like skein stretched between Hermione's wand and the great bulk of darkness that hulked beyond the circle. She sensed Snape staggering to his feet, but he may as well have been half-way across the universe. She began to count: "One. Two. Three. . ." As she reached eight, Snape again tried to grab her arm, but he was flung away as if he and she were magnets with the same charge.

"Nine. Ten. _Eleven_!" With a great heave, she flung the skein of blackness off the tip of her wand and into the aperture. The circle imploded or suddenly retreated to a point beyond infinity (she wasn't sure which), but it took the entire heaving mound of Darkness Visible with it, sucking it inside and raising a screaming wind that whipped her hair about her face. As the pale circle shrank to the size of a pinhole, the screaming wind died to a moan, a whisper. A few withered leaves whirled for a moment before settling to stillness, and the sky's dim light trickled down through dark branches and down the tree trunks.

The Darkness was gone.

Hermione heard someone's harsh breathing. Snape's? No—her own. She slowly lowered her wand. Her entire arm ached and her chest hurt as though she'd been running a marathon. She turned clumsily as if half-petrified, looking for Snape, dimly aware that she had done something to him, and saw him a few yards away struggling to his feet. He stood, swaying a little, his black coat open, rucksack askew, hair straggling around his drawn, pale face.

"Are you done with that exceptionally stupid wand-waving?" he said in a strained voice. "I warned you." His voice rose. "Why the fuck didn't you listen to me?"

Her temper exploded. "Why should I?" she screamed. "What would you have done? I saved us, you—" Suddenly the ground tilted, and dizziness rushed through her like a river of thick, dirty water. "Wanker," she said faintly. The wand dropped from her hand as the ground rose rapidly toward her face. A hard hand yanked her upright; she was half-lifted, half-carried, then lowered with surprising gentleness onto a pile of dry leaves. A harsh voice muttered in her ear, "Bloody Gryffindor. Always having to play the know-it-all. You have no idea what you've just done—what you've just unleashed." A flask pushed against her lips. "Drink this."

"But—you—"

"Not. One. Word," said Snape through his teeth. "Just shut the fuck up and drink."

Hermione took a sip. It was the gingery mint potion Snape had concocted in his cave: not the water, that astonishing water, for which she was half grateful and half sorry. She drank, feeling strength flood into her blood, bones, organs, pushing back the encroaching sickness. Yet something about the potion seemed less wholesome than before. The relief rushing through her felt different, as if she were fighting against being altered, realigned—adapted to live in this universe.

Her hand shaking a little, she lowered the flask and raised her head, and the world was steady again. Crouched at her side, Snape took the flask from her. She chose not to look at him.

"Can you stand?" he said, his tone tight with impatience. Not troubling to answer, Hermione pushed herself up, ignoring the hand he extended. The ground stayed where it was supposed to; in fact she felt better, more energized, than at any other time in this world except, well, in the hollow tree.

"Put your wand away," he snapped.

Turning her back on Snape, she shoved her wand back up her sleeve and began walking in the same direction in which they'd been fleeing from the Blackness Visible. The dreary grey light trickling down through the thick trees gave just enough illumination to pick out the stony path. Behind her, Snape hissed out one angry breath, then she heard the crunch of his footsteps a few paces back, following her.

 _Who is that woman in the cloak?_ Snape hadn't had a chance to answer her question. But Hermione somehow understood that asking that question now would draw the attention of a power she wasn't prepared to face. They had to escape the forest first.

The minutes passed, silent except for their footsteps. Behind her she heard Snape's ragged breathing. She took grim pleasure in pushing herself as fast as she could, half-hoping to hear signs he was struggling to keep up, but he steadily kept pace, always a few feet behind.

Then from one stride to the next the trees ended, and Hermione almost stepped into a pool of dark grey liquid. With a yelp of dismay she stumbled. Snape's hand closed instantly around her arm and steadied her, but she hardly noticed, for what lay before them threatened to overwhelm her. She took a deep, shaking breath and made herself take it in: a wasted, dreary land like a nightmare vision of a dying Earth. Thick tufts of black grass, each blade knife-sharp and hungry looking, surrounded pools filled with the same poisonous-looking stuff Hermione had almost fallen into: thicker than water, thinner than mud—and moving slightly, as if breathing. Charcoal-grey clouds hung low, dragging long fingers over the morass. Yet there was light: along the horizon stretched a thin band of blazing green that cast an unsettling glow across the wasteland and drew long shadows from the grass clumps. From the corner of her eye those shadows seemed to writhe, though when she looked at them directly, nothing moved.

That was the light Hermione had seen far away on the cliff's edge moments after being pulled into this world—the same light she'd seen in her dream of Snape and the woman in the cloak. At that moment she understood, down to her molecules, that if she ever saw the source of that light—whatever sun lurked just below that close horizon—it would mean death.

She turned her head away from that sick glow to look up at Snape, and his expression stopped her cold. No rage, no impatience—only a deep, drawn sadness that darkened his eyes and shadowed his face. She had never before seen him look like that, and it terrified her almost as much as the wasteland ahead of them.

"The light," she said, and stopped. Her mouth felt too dry for speech.

"The light," echoed Snape softly, his eyes on hers, "is where we must go. Where the gateway lies."

The thought she could no longer suppress squirmed to the surface of her mind. "The woman in the green cloak. She's waiting for us there."

Snape dropped his eyes. That told Hermione all she needed to know.

* * *

 **Note:** More to come! Chapter 12, "Event horizon," will be posted August 23.


	13. Chapter 12—Event horizon

**Chapter Twelve: "Event horizon"**

Clara Ironstone looked far too young to be team leader for the twenty-five Aurors crowded around what Harry kept thinking of as Dumbledore's desk. Minerva McGonagall sat behind the enormous oak slab, with Harry, Ron, and Poppy Pomfrey standing beside her and Hagrid near the doors, as if guarding them. Not for the first time, the headmaster's tower had taken on the aura of a war-room. The magical golden toys off to one side were still and quiet; even the portraits were empty, as if their deceased occupants had been told in no uncertain terms to be somewhere else.

Harry could only imagine Dumbledore's dry reaction to what Ironstone had just finished conjuring: an enormous map of Hogwarts stitched together by lines of coloured light. The interior showed levels stacked like a layer cake, the moving stairs frozen in strange Escher-like patterns, while the grounds showed the Quidditch pitch, the lake, and the dark bulk of the Forbidden Forest. Near the forest's edge glowed several tiny oaks—the grove where Diana and Terry had been found, comatose. When Ironstone's wand tapped the forest at roughly mid-point, the image of a single oak appeared with " _Site of Abduction_ " in tiny glowing letters beneath it.

Splendiferous. State-of-the-art. But Harry couldn't help noticing (with a touch of satisfaction) that unlike his Marauder's Map, this model seemed unable to show people. Though of course it was ridiculous to think of himself in competition with Clara Ironstone—like comparing chalk and cheese. Though no Metamorphmagus, the slight young woman with mousy hair had the ability to become utterly anonymous, to blend in anywhere and never quite be remembered afterwards. Rumour was she had infiltrated a notorious counterfeit wand operation as a shop girl in Diagon Alley, helped to smoke out a nest of Death Eaters at Beauxbatons while passing as a librarian, and even gone outside the Wizarding world to pose as a City cubicle rat, heavily into clubs and wine bars, to expose a gang of renegade Squibs trafficking in child witches and wizards. Harry simply couldn't do that kind of field work without the unpleasant assistance of Polyjuice, even if the Ministry would allow one of their most valuable assets to be exposed to such risk. Ginny had certainly made her views known on that matter. Not to mention he had two little sons to think about.

But sweet Merlin, at times how he longed to throw himself into danger again. Especially now, with the Aurors' eyes occasionally sliding in his direction, as if they were wondering whether The Boy Who Lived was good for anything these days other than hoisting a pint with his old mates or Scourgifying the nursery.

Ironstone had at last finished her map and was turning to the three equally young-looking Aurors standing closest to her. Harry recognized one of them as the "gardener" who'd been hacking away earlier at the roses. "Group Red. You'll patrol the grounds and gate," she ordered. As the three nodded curtly in response, their leader drew a glowing crimson line to represent their assigned patrol, then added, "Hagrid here will patrol with you." As the half-giant bounced on his toes and puffed his chest out a little, the Auror leader briskly designated two Green Aurors to the Owlery (Harry didn't envy them—too much guano). Two Blues were assigned to the Astronomy Tower, three Yellows to the Great Hall and the main entrance, two Purples to the hospital wing under Madam Pomfrey's sceptical eye, and four Greys to patrol the corridors.

Ironstone's map now glowed like a Christmas tree, and her teams crowded around it, tapping wands on their colours to accept their assignments. Yet nine Aurors remained unassigned. Most looked Harry's age or younger, but two or three seemed well into their thirties. One appeared even older, sporting a thick shock of silver hair and a seamed face. She looked as if she'd seen some serious action.

Standing beside Harry, Ron raised his eyebrows at the unassigned group.

"I bloody well hope that lot are for the dungeons," he whispered under cover of the hubbub. "Or the Forest."

"Dunno." Harry recognized one or two of the younger Aurors and none of the older ones. D.O.M., those—had to be. He thought of Hermione: were these her colleagues? Were they here on orders, or had they volunteered for this mission out of concern for her? He hoped so, since after leaving her husband Hermione had lost the love of every Weasley on the planet. As her boss, Arthur Weasley was at least obliged to maintain a professional relationship, but Harry knew Ginny would have been furious to know that her own husband occasionally checked in with Hermione by Floo to make sure she was all right. He found it comforting to think Hermione might still have a few friends at the Ministry besides him.

* * *

Going back into the dark trees behind was not an option, yet Hermione recoiled from the idea of picking her way through the wasteland ahead: knife-sharp black grass and cesspools, lit by that bar of greenish corpse-light low on the horizon. Somewhere at the heart of that glow lay the gateway, her only chance of returning home—if she could believe the man who was, and yet wasn't, Severus Snape. If she could trust that he wasn't taking her to the woman in green, the woman she had _seen_ , not dreamt: the sinuous creature whose fierce, glowing beauty and voracious appetite Snape had been unable, unwilling to resist.

That searing kiss in the hollow tree had been nothing more than an after-effect. Hermione knew that now. Only the dying moments of the spell she and Snape had together conjured to banish Eznerif and his hideous kin—the brilliant magic which, for one scintillating moment, had bound them. It had opened her soul, and something in him had opened as well, like sunlight glimpsed through a crack in a prison door. But it wasn't real. Not as real as the woman in green. She felt sick to her stomach, rage and fear slowly churning like the thick, grey liquid in the pool at her feet. Her right hand twitched, craving the feel of her wand. If Snape delivered her to the enemy, she would use it take that woman apart, molecule by molecule, or die trying.

 _And if you die?_ whispered her cool, rational self. _How will anyone at Hogwarts know what's happened? Who would warn them?_

She had no choice. If there was even a small chance Snape could help her survive, she needed to take that chance. He might very well be using her. Fine. She would bloody well use him.

All this time, though it must have been mere seconds, Hermione had held Snape's eyes. He still wore that strange, disturbing expression: sadness and something less easy to identify. Something like reluctant admiration in anyone else, except she was quite certain Snape had no such feeling in his repertoire of emotions. But those eyes . . . oh, God. With sudden panic, she remembered he had once been a powerful Legilimans. In the Wizarding world, he would need to utter the spell to use it on her. But here?

She turned instantly away from Snape and crossed her arms.

"That woman," she said. "She controls this world, doesn't she? Maybe even this universe." _And you?_

"This is her realm," Snape said heavily.

"Maybe so, but I opened a hole in it."

"Like a fly blundering into a spider's web."

"Quantum magic," she muttered. _I saved our lives, you ungrateful bastard._

"What?"

"Nothing."

Snape leaned into her face and hissed, "You've fully alerted her. If you'd helped me as I asked instead of acting like an insufferable know-it-all—"

"Your spell would have failed!" she snapped. "And we were out of time."

"You've been in this universe less than two days—and you profess to understand its magic? How impressive."

"I learn fast," she flung back. "But of course you've probably forgotten."

Snape's hands came down hard on Hermione's shoulders, forcing her to face him. Quickly she visualized thick steel doors barricading the chambers of her thoughts. "The moment you used your wand," he said quietly, "you cast a Dark Mark against the fabric of this realm. That cannot be undone." The lack of sarcasm or anger in his tone frightened her far more than his words, but his eyes were as uncompromising as stone. "More than that: now she knows the extent of your power. That is something I hoped would not happen."

Hermione stared at him, her mind absorbing his words. _The extent of your power._ Snape wasn't angry because he thought she was stupid. Quite the contrary.

She raised her chin. "I need to know more about this woman. Did she tell you to abduct the children?" As Snape hesitated, she snapped, "I need the truth!"

He blinked as if taken aback by her bluntness. Then he bowed his head. "Yes."

"And you just _obeyed_?"

Snape whirled away from her and began to pace. "I intervened when I could." He stopped pacing and took a deep, shaky breath. "At the very least, I reduced their suffering. I remember enough of my old skills to do _that_ much."

With hideous clarity Hermione remembered her dream of Snape and the woman in the clearing: sinuous arms winding around him, that greedy mouth fastened to his as they sank to the ground. "You never tried to fight back?" she said shakily. "Never tried to stop her?"

Snape swung back to her. "How can you fight the very air you breathe?" His tone was savage. "An entire universe? She _is_ this place. She _is_ this realm." The lines around his thin mouth deepened. "I have tried," he said softly, "to trap her a dozen times, kill her a hundred different ways. She laughs. _Laughs_ , as if I were putting on a magic show for her amusement." He took a deep breath as if forcing himself to be calm. "I do have one ability. I can occasionally pass into the Wizarding World unnoticed, but only for a short time, to supply myself with food and other necessities. I'd hoped that ability might help us. But the moment you used your wand, Miss Granger"—his voice sliced into her— "you earned her complete attention. Being unnoticed is out of the question now."

She joined her hands, fingers surreptitiously touching the wand up her sleeve, as Snape turned away to face the marshland, lit dimly by the sick green light of a hidden sun. His stillness unnerved her. "She brought me into this— _life_ , if you can call it that," he said at last, low and rapid. "A life I didn't ask for," and Hermione shivered as another memory stabbed her, a dream from years ago of a cave, a woman's form bending over a slab on which a man writhed in pain. "Eons ago, her people gave life. But now she is darkness. A black sun in a starless night."

 _A black sun._ "A singularity," Hermione whispered.

Snape swung to look at her. "A what?"

She drew herself up, trying not to sound flustered. "Erm—a black hole. The remains of a massive star. When it runs out of fuel, it collapses in on itself. If the star is really massive it keeps collapsing, and it pulls everything inside—even light."

"This isn't the time to be pedantic, Granger."

Hermione opened her mouth to say, _I'm not being pedantic. I'm telling you I conjured a tiny singularity and yanked that Darkness out of this universe._ But she bit down hard on the words. Whatever she told Snape now, the woman in green was likely to learn. Quickly.

Snape shifted the rucksack on his shoulders. "I have reason to believe you surprised her earlier. But I doubt that will happen again. This is _her_ world; she has made it her own, and its laws bend to her will." He settled his rucksack on his shoulders. "We must move."

"Why?" she threw back. "Why not stay here and let her come to us? It's going to happen sooner or later."

"For fuck's sake, Granger. Do you think that's what I want?" Strangely, something about his peevish tone rang true. "Believe me, we're better off moving. Now listen: follow my footsteps _exactly_. And for Merlin's sake stay away from the pools. They're—"

"Deadly," she interrupted.

"Worse. Cannibalistic."

"Oh."

"And _please_ keep your wand in your sleeve."

With great care, they skirted around the thick, grey pond into which she had almost fallen. The surface rippled, small thick waves moving toward them as if trying to follow. She shuddered and looked away, concentrating on the grey tussocky grass and Snape's thick black boots. Dim, greenish light crawled snake-like along the ground, but it was better to focus on that than the watchful horizon.

After an unknown length of time in which Hermione's world shrank down to one plodding step after another, to sudden turns and stops and long hesitations, to the soft whispering scrape of black grass rippling when they passed, Snape stopped. She almost ran into him.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"Do you truly think," he said, his back to her, "that I'm enthralled by her? That I would betray you to her?"

She stared down at the ground. Grey mud crept around the toes of her boots.

"I don't know what to believe," she said at last.

Without another word, Snape resumed his silent, steady tread.

* * *

"I know you came to Hogwarts as a friend, Harry. You weren't asked to join this mission," said Ironstone. Behind her, the nine unassigned Aurors stood at parade rest, legs apart and hands behind backs, their expressions carefully blank. "But if you . . . should decide to volunteer, well—our division would really appreciate your experience and expertise. Especially regarding Hogwarts."

"I'm happy to volunteer." Harry hoped he didn't sound too eager.

"That's brilliant." Clara's smile expanded, lighting up her grey eyes and infusing her squarish, unassuming face with radiance. Charm offensive: another one of her attributes, Harry supposed. He didn't allow himself to consider when or how he would break the news to Ginny about a volunteer mission that was, to put it mildly, less than safe. His hot-tempered wife would be less than happy.

"I'd like you to patrol the dungeons," said Ironstone. "With four of my team." Her smile dropped away as she turned to the waiting Aurors. "Bast. Horus." Two of the younger Aurors, female and male, stepped forward. "Khonsu." A slightly older man, bald and brown-skinned, gave Harry a curt nod. "And Sekhmet." The leathery-faced woman with white hair offered a knife-like smile.

Ron shouldered his way forward. "What about me? I've been at Hogwarts seven years. I know the inside almost as well as Hagrid or Professor McGonagall—and the outside even better." He smiled grimly. "Especially from above."

McGonagall, still seated behind the desk, shook her head. "Mr Weasley, for now I need all staff on hand doing their regular jobs, unless the situation changes."

As Ron bridled, Ironstone said, "Professor, I'm assigning my last five Aurors to patrol the Forest perimeter. Thank you for being willing to lift the Interdiction long enough to let them in." As McGonagall gave a single cool nod, Harry suspected the Auror team might have been able to bypass the headmistress's spell regardless. Ironstone added, "And actually, I was hoping you could spare Ron Weasley here to assist in patrolling the oak grove." She turned to Ron. "That's where you found the two missing students, isn't it?"

Ron swallowed. "Yeah. That's right."

Ironstone's eyes narrowed. "Ron, I'm sure that wasn't easy for you. But would you be willing to help us, if" —she turned back to McGonagall "—the headmistress gives you permission?"

Harry's mouth twitched. The Auror leader might look as if she were barely out of wizarding school, but she had, with exquisite skill, manoeuvred McGonagall into an impossible position. If the headmistress refused, she would seem not only ungracious but ungrateful for the Ministry's help. And McGonagall knew it; Harry could tell by the way she set her lips in a thin line before inclining her head to Ron.

"If you wish, Mr Weasley."

Ron looked strangely pale, freckles standing out against his skin. Whatever had happened to him in the oak grove, Harry thought, must have been worse than he'd let on. But the Quidditch master squared his shoulders and gave a curt nod. "I'm in."

McGonagall gathered herself and rose from her chair. Even slightly stooped, the headmistress topped Ironstone by several inches. Silence fell as she stared at the Auror leader, then she sighed and held out her right hand, palm up.

"I asked for your help, and I accept it gratefully. Whatever you can do to stop this terrible thing. All I want is for our students to be safe."

Ironstone said quietly, "We will do our very best to make that so."

Harry shot Ron a quick look. The red-head still looked pale, but before Harry could ask him if he was okay, Ironstone and McGonagall came up to them, the five Aurors assigned to the Forest tagging along behind.

It was then Ironstone explained her plan for the oak grove.

"Sunset?" Ron's mouth dropped open. "Bloody hell! It isn't safe even in daylight!"

"The Forest is a liminal space," said Ironstone, "and sunset is a liminal time. Certain forces that control magical laws may sometimes shift, become temporarily unstable. We've been developing spells that can take advantage of liminal space and time. It must be sunset." She put her hand on Ron's shoulder. "Are you with us?"

"Yes," he said glumly.

The meeting broke up, but Harry waited until after he and Ron left the tower and reached the bottom of the spiral stairs before saying quietly, "What's up, mate?"

Ron looked at him, eyes narrowed. "What d'you mean?"

"I mean—is there something you're not telling me about that oak grove?"

Ron glanced away. It seemed to Harry that he struggled for a moment before he shrugged dismissively.

"Nothing. Just that I went in by myself last time. That was a bit mental. At least this time the place'll be stuffed with Aurors and centaurs." He gave a crooked grin. "It'll be all right."

The dungeons were evacuated that very afternoon, all Slytherins moved to temporary quarters in the Astronomy Tower because, it seemed, the caretaker had discovered not just one but several nests of Blast-Ended Screwts. Probably some stupid spell gone awry, the unhappy evacuees muttered darkly at dinner in the Great Hall, shooting dirty looks at the Gryffindors.

During dessert, Harry and four Aurors slipped away to the dungeons, where Sekhmet split them into two patrol groups, assigning Harry with her and Bast. For what seemed like hours they moved slowly down the dim, stony corridors, their lighted wand-tips probing the gloom, using Stealth-Sensoring charms and some newer detection spells like McGonagall's elegant Exhibio. But with the over-eager Bast and steely-eyed Sekhmet breathing down his neck, Harry had no time to use the Marauder's Map. He didn't know these Aurors well enough to share what was, in effect, a family heirloom. Nor did he entirely trust them not to confiscate the Map and cart it off to the D.O.M. for dissection.

At last Harry thought of a trick from the days of Dumbledore's Army. Lagging behind the other two by a few steps, he silently conjured a Shadowghost down the corridor ahead. Bast took the bait and leapt eagerly toward the thin writhing shape, distracting Sekhmet just enough to let Harry slip into a long-disused closet.

" _Lumos_." Quickly he pulled the Map out of the field rucksack he'd been given for patrol duty and unrolled the Map over the dusty floor. " _Exhibeo Memoria_." Backward the tiny clock's hands raced until at last it reached the proper time.

 _Old Potions Classroom—NO ACTIVITY_.

Harry's jaw dropped. "Sweet fucking Merlin."

That was impossible. He'd seen the blackness, seen that name. Ron had seen them.

Outside the door came Sekhmet's raised voice calling for Harry. She did not sound at all pleased. With another soft curse, Harry stashed the Map back in his rucksack and opened the door. "Nothing to see in here," he said coolly, stepping into the corridor.

Sekhmet whirled toward him, her face set in furious lines. "Do not ever disappear again, Potter. We stay in each other's sight at all times."

"Yeah, I get that," said Harry. "But—why did you two run ahead? Not exactly Auror protocol, is it?" He fixed Sekhmet with his best innocent look.

Bast said, "We thought we saw—"

"Belay that," Sekhmet growled, still holding Harry's gaze. He knew that _she_ knew he'd been up to something. He kept his expression bland.

"Back to the potions classroom," she grunted at last, motioning Harry ahead of her and Bast. He would have no other chance to use the Map now, but he didn't need to. He knew what they would find when the patrol converged as planned in the old potions classroom and blazed their combined power into every nook and cranny.

They would find what the Map had shown him. No sign of invasion. No sign of magic. A blank space. Tabula rasa . . . as if nothing at all had ever happened in that room.

Unless Ron and his patrol found something in the Forbidden Forest, Harry thought bleakly, their search for Hermione had reached a dead end.

* * *

 **Note:** PersephonePest, I really appreciated your review. But I'm afraid I'm addicted to cliff-hangers and promise many more before the end!

Ch. 13, "In the forest of the light," is coming on August 27.


	14. Chapter 13--In the forest of the light

**Chapter Thirteen: "In the forest of the light"**

Just when Hermione thought she couldn't take one more stumbling step through a world narrowed down to Snape's black boots tramping through grey tussocks, skirting viscous pools that made soft slurping noises as they passed, making sharp turns to avoid the clumps of whispering black grasses . . . the boots stopped. So did she, keeping her head down, unwilling to look up at the sick green light filling the horizon. It seemed to be growing stronger, creeping like thick liquid through every crack in this dead land.

Snape said, "You need to rest."

She looked up at him. Her head seemed to weigh ten stone. "There isn't time," she heard herself say as if from a great distance.

"You'll be good for nothing if you don't." He grasped her arm, pulled her a few steps, then sat her down against a great boulder. "We're safe here for a while." She heard him rummage in his rucksack, and when he handed her a flask she didn't protest. "Only two sips," he said. "There isn't much left." She obeyed, relaxing as the heady infusion of mint and ginger pushed back the sickness, and kept her eyes closed, imagining a blackboard, her blackboard full of equations, imagined reciting them softly, timing the changes in value to the movements of her wand. Quantum magic, spells to loosen the bonds of the liminal space she inhabited, to unravel . . .

Dazed, Hermione opened her eyes. She no longer felt sick, but a leaden exhaustion weighed her down. She looked up to see Severus Snape frowning at her, the horizon glowing grey-green behind him. Was that sinister light even brighter now?

"Time to go," he said tightly.

Hermione tried to push herself up. She didn't quite manage it. With an impatient growl, Snape reached down and pulled her to her feet. Though she swayed a bit, she found she could stand. The dizziness had passed . . . but only two or three more mouthfuls of that potion remained in the flask. On the other hand, it wouldn't matter how much potion was left if the enemy proved stronger than she. Her mouth twisted grimly.

"Can you walk?" said Snape, his tone implying it would be most inconvenient if she couldn't.

"Of course," she said loftily, though all her instincts screamed against it. Again she found herself following Snape, her gaze on his boots. She found it almost painful to look anywhere else, especially up, where the louring clouds hung low and grey above their heads, pregnant with menace; or ahead, where the smear of green _had_ grown brighter. Hermione squinted. The alien twilight made it hard to focus, but she thought she could see a structure in the distance now, something with towers, hulking black against the uneasy horizon. From one of the towers shone a steady, brilliant light, like a greenish star. She swallowed, her throat dry.

"There," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's where you're taking me."

How very brave she'd sounded, back at the border of the forest, about confronting the creator of this soul-eating universe with a wand and a few untested formulae for quantum magic. Now the thought made her feel weak and sick.

The former potions master turned and looked at her without expression. "Yes, in the end. But not just yet. There's something else you must see." He grasped her elbow to pull her forward, but she hung back, almost dragging her heels like a child.

Snape grimaced. " _Do_ come on, Granger. If I wanted to feed you to the Grey Ponds, I'd have done that long ago."

His quick, dry impatience was oddly reassuring. She let him guide her, keeping her eyes on her feet, her gaze flicking sideways only when they came close to the whispering black grasses.

Without warning the grey ground came to an end at a steep slope. Hermione almost skidded to a stop. "Careful," said Snape, keeping his hand on her elbow. When she was steady, he took his hand away, and she wasn't sure whether to be relieved or sorry.

They were standing on the lip of a small, bowl-like valley, probably no more than fifty feet deep and perhaps half a mile across. Dozens of trees, an entire grove, and every one of them brilliant with colours. Violet intertwined with coral; scarlet played with indigo, gold, emerald . . . hues she couldn't even name. If someone had taken the entire spectrum of light and turned it into seeds and planted them, Hermione thought dazedly, it might look like this. Her heart lifted in hope, even as her eyes filled with tears at such unearthly beauty.

"I know," Snape said softly. She looked at him, the hard lines of his nose and jaw, the deep-set black eyes, softened and brilliant in the riot of rainbow light, and forgot for a moment how much she distrusted him. Disliked him.

"What is this place?" Hermione kept her voice low, as if they were in church. That didn't seem at all ridiculous. If there were such a thing as a sacred place in this dark, blighted universe, this light-filled valley was it; she felt it in her bones and in her heart.

To her astonishment, Snape took her hand. As his fingers wrapped around hers, a shock of heat blazed from her fingertips to her belly.

"Let me show you," he said. "Come."

The side of the valley was steep but not treacherously so. Granite-like rocks embedded with tiny crystals studded the sandy soil, affording solid footholds. As Snape led Hermione from rock to rock, still holding her hand, shards of crystal caught the light. It was as if they walked on stars. The firm, living touch of Snape's fingers uplifted her, infused her with longing, but no, that was rubbish. He was simply helping her down the slope. With an effort, she sharpened her attention on the glowing, gossamer trees ahead of them.

They reached the valley floor and stood for a moment, bathed in the rainbow light, their hands still joined. The warmth of his fingers moved up her arm, into the core of her, unfurling the treacherous memory of the hollow tree, the living heat of his mouth against hers. With a shaky breath she extricated her fingers. Snape looked at his hand, his expression almost startled, as if he'd been awoken. Then his face shut down and he turned away, folding his arms across his chest.

"This place," he said gruffly, "holds the life-patterns of those taken—but not yet used." He almost spat the last word as if it tasted vile. "Come. Quick!" He plunged between the trees, their light playing over his dusty black coat and rucksack. "Follow me!" he barked over his shoulder, and she did, ducking beneath the filigreed branches, her eyes dazzled.

"Used," she said to Snape's back. "Used by her, you mean."

He said nothing.

"As some sort of energy."

"Top marks, Granger."

"But why aren't there sentinels? How did we get in so easily? Wait!" She pushed forward, grabbing at his arm, pulling him to a stop. "What if it's a trap?"

"It isn't," he said rapidly. "She needs no sentinels here. Nothing born of this universe will come near this place."

"Except her. Obviously."

"Yes, but not now. Now she waits in her lair." His lip curled. "She likes it better when they come to her."

"Then why are we here?"

Snape turned his head as if looking for something, then pointed. "Ah. There. See?"

Hermione peered through the network of glowing branches to see two tiny trees, each no more than about a foot high. One glowed a faint indigo, the other a dim ruby. In contrast to the riot of light around them, they seemed almost invisible.

"Those," Snape said in a low voice, "are your two missing students."

Hermione's jaw dropped open. "What? What are you saying?"

"I thought I'd sent them back whole," he said roughly, not looking at her. "I didn't realize, until you arrived here and accused me, that I hadn't. Their bodies were returned . . . but their lives—their personalities, their souls—were already stolen."

"Oh. Oh, no." Hermione brought her hands to her mouth. The little trees, lacy and fragile, almost too beautiful to look at—nothing but prisons for two bewildered minds. "What can we do?" she whispered.

Snape crouched. With a gentleness that surprised her, he touched the tip of one tiny branch. "I've never seen a life-pattern released," he said, "but I've seen them harvested. She cuts the trunks. From each cut, the life-force trickles out like sap, and she gathers it in a bowl." He looked up at her, his eyes like cinders. "Then she drinks it."

She swallowed nausea. "They're so dim. Has—has she. . .?"

"No. She hasn't taken anything from them. They're dim because—they're lost. Their essence is intact, I think, but they have no idea where they are or what's happened."

"I tried to trace their life paths," said Hermione softly, "but I couldn't—because they were here all this time." She crouched beside Snape. "You sent their bodies back. Surely there's a way to send their life-forces back."

He looked at her, his black eyes glinting with networks of light. "Even a day ago, I would have said it couldn't be done, that neither of us is strong enough. But you have surprised me, Granger . . . in ways I never expected."

It took her a moment to realize that a man who had once held her in utter contempt, a man she still had little reason to trust, had just paid her an undreamt-of compliment.

"Particularly," Snape added, still holding her gaze, "when we work together."

He reached into the side pocket of his rucksack and pulled out a flask. Not the Balancing potion. It was the water they'd drunk before unleashing their combined power against Eznerif and his kin—the water they'd drunk before succumbing to the strange attraction in the hollow tree, when doors long shut had begun to open. Terror rose into her throat.

"No," Hermione heard herself say. "We don't need that."

Except it wasn't terror at all, but a fierce, rising excitement that left her almost breathless.

Snape's mouth quirked in the strangest expression: amusement, sadness, and something else so complex she couldn't name it.

"Yes we do," he said quietly as he unstoppered the flask. He raised it to his lips and drank, then extended it to her. "Take it." She heard an edge in his voice, like raw silk. As if watching herself in a film, Hermione took the flask and sipped, astonished all over again that this water—trapped for hours, days in that little flask— still tasted so brilliantly alive. She could almost see it cascading over pure white stone, sparkling with the sun of a young and hopeful world. Tears filled her eyes as she thrust the flask back, not looking at him, and knelt beside the two little trees.

It seemed to her their glow had dimmed even in the past few minutes: ruby and indigo drowned by the netted splendour of branches arcing above them. Snape knelt beside her, saying nothing, but she could feel his tension. And he must have been able to feel hers; it was as if a great force were coiling tight inside her, preparing to spring. She took a shaky breath.

"We—need to show them the way back. We need to make a pathway." She thought for a moment. "You said no one born of this universe can stand to come near this place."

"Yes. With one exception, of course."

Hermione thought further. "Ron found Diana and Terry in the oak grove on the edge of the Forbidden Forest." Her back straightened. "Sweet Merlin—in our universe, this is the oak grove. It has to be. We're at an interstice." She turned toward Snape, blazing with confidence and hope. "A liminal space! We can—I can just—oh, this might work!" She pulled out her wand. As his eyes flared with alarm, she snapped, "I need this, Snape. I can't do anything without it."

For a moment he hesitated, his eyes searching hers, giving her time to realize that she had at last and quite unthinkingly called him "Snape," as if she were his equal—or more. All her lingering fear and hesitation vanished as the power within her began slowly to uncoil. She felt feverish, incandescent, a part of her caught up in brilliance; part of her coolly watching as she levelled her wand at the two little trees, as Snape raised his left hand and wrapped his fingers around her wand-hand. Power shocked through her. Closing her eyes, she groped for the image of the blackboard, the equations and spells that would disrupt liminality—that would simply move two struggling life essences the few quanta between this hell-hole and home. She had to create a tunnel that would allow the living quanta of Diana and Terry's life forces to move from this universe to their rightful place. And that wouldn't work without the Heisenberg spells: the delicate ballet of delta, h-bar, and Planck's constant that had taken her years even to partially understand.

Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle, Muggle physicists called it. Heisenberg's Curse, as some in the Department of Mysteries had called it. If she hurled the life-forces out of this universe too quickly, she would lose control over the direction she sent them. They could go anywhere, be lost forever.

 _Oh, sweet Merlin and all the physicists, please let this work. Please let us send them home._

She opened her eyes. Her hand still locked with Snape's, she forced her wand to trace the Heisenberg symbols. After a moment of stiff resistance, Snape let her take the lead. _Mystery. Matrix. Mater. Magic_. Her voice, growing from a whisper to a chant. _Mystery. Matrix. Mater. Magic_. Her wand began to glow, faintly at first, then with a brilliance that outlined the invisible symbols of quantum magic in lines of fire. The fiery lines coalesced into a thick, glowing coil that reached out and gently touched the two little trees, then the coil thickened and widened until it formed a glowing tunnel. As if nourished by that cold fire, the trees' feeble glow strengthened until one shone a pure, clear scarlet, and the other blazed more brilliantly than a midsummer sky. The tunnel of light slipped, or shifted, seeming to extend to an infinite point. Their entwined arms trembled as power coursed through their wands, and the two little trees shivered violently. Hermione heard Snape's hissing breath as he fought with her to control that great uncoiling force.

It was time.

" _Reverto Domum_!" But she barely heard her own cry. Her ears were filled with a roaring like a great river, or the sound of waves and particles in anguished vibration. Still, nothing happened, nothing but that great roaring, and she heard herself silently scream _it's not working it's not working it's not_ and then Snape's voice joined hers—" _Reverto Domum_!" _Return home! Return home!_ Power swelled and grew and leapt from her wand-tip, forking like lightening around the golden tunnel of light surrounding the little trees. The tunnel began to contract, taking the trees with it; they shrank or retreated—Hermione found it impossible to tell—until nothing remained of them but two brilliant points of light: one red, one blue. They lingered for a moment longer, then they were gone. The golden light died abruptly, as if switched off. In its absence, the brilliant skeins of light from all the remaining trees seemed diminished.

Silence, except for breathing: hers and his. Their fingers—slick with sweat—were still locked together around her wand.

"Did it work?" said Snape at last, his voice ragged.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey sighed and rubbed her eyes. Even with a Magnifying charm, she found it hard to keep reading. It was exhaustion; for days now she had barely left the children's bedsides. She felt she owed it to them to keep vigil, to stand guard and honour their struggle to live, even though she knew no hope remained. Unless somehow the two lost life-forces could find their way back, Diana and Terry would die. The journey to death had already started; she could tell by the waxiness of their faces, by the harsh rasp of their breathing. It wouldn't be long now. Minerva was already preparing to visit the soon-to-be-grieving parents, and Poppy had offered to accompany her, even though she would rather be locked up in Azkaban with ten Dementors for company.

"Madam Pomfrey?" came a quiet voice.

She started, turning in her chair, then sighed in exasperation. An Auror, one of Ironstone's so-called Purple Patrol. Whenever one of them passed the infirmary, they had an annoying tendency to check up on her. Well. They were only following orders.

"Everything's fine here," she said. _Except for the fact two innocent students are dying._

The Auror stepped forward, the candlelight playing over her face. She couldn't have been much older than twenty or so—far too young to be playing at war. But then, didn't that sound all too familiar?

"Is there anything—can I do anything?" the girl said uncertainly.

Poppy tried to smile. "Just your jobs," she said. "You're doing fine. Thank you."

Something exploded out of the dark, like a star going nova. The force of the silent blast knocked her out of her chair; as she tumbled to the floor she heard the young Auror shrieking. Dazed, Poppy scrambled to her feet, pulling her wand out of her sleeve. Over Diana and Terry, hovered two intricate nets of lacy light: his brilliant red, hers pure indigo.

With a deep, shuddering breath of wonder and hope, she slid her wand back into her sleeve. But the Auror had regained her feet, wand out, her lips forming an attack spell. Poppy shoved her hard enough to send wand and spell flying askew. As the girl stumbled, Poppy kicked the wand out of her reach and grabbed her arm.

"Wait!" she breathed. "Wait. . ." as with great delicacy the lacy lights settled over each child, infusing their faces with brilliance. Slowly, it began to fade as if sinking into their bodies. As it dimmed, two waxen faces softened into life; harsh breathing grew easy and regular. They watched in wonder as the last spark of light vanished.

A finger moved, an eyelid fluttered.

Poppy rushed to Diana's side as the girl opened her eyes.

* * *

"Did it work?" Snape was saying.

"I don't know." Hermione heard her own voice as if from a great distance. Only two little mounds marked where the trees had stood. She couldn't think; too much power coursed through her, so much force fused their hands together and she never, ever wanted to unbind from him. _Don't look at him. Don't. You can't trust him_. But she looked, and his eyes caught hers, and the magic infusing her vision showed her the inviolate truth she had only glimpsed in the hollow tree. Severus: a man struggling for life and light. A closed heart yearning to be open. A piece of her own self she had never known was missing.

 _I can't leave this place without him. I won't._

Even as she reeled with the shock of this understanding, even as a vengeful part of her insisted that it was impossible to feel this way about a man who had stood by and watched as children were abducted and their life-forces drained, she wanted nothing more than to hold him, taste him, feel every inch of his skin against hers. Right here. _Right now._

Severus was staring at her, his black eyes narrowed as if seeing something he couldn't believe. Hermione reached out with her free hand and touched his face. His eyes closed and his lips tightened as if in pain.

"No," he whispered.

"Yes." As she leaned in to kiss him, as her mouth touched his, she felt his resistance, felt him trying to pull back, but she wouldn't let him, kept gently probing until his mouth opened against hers. Their right hands were still locked together, trapped between their bodies now. She loosened her fingers, letting her wand drop as he pulled her against him with a groan: one hand buried in her hair, the other around her waist before moving down to grip her buttocks. She groped for the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers, undoing some, ripping one or two, so hungry to feel the warmth of his naked skin. But that wasn't enough, not nearly; she spread her thighs against him and pulled him, let herself be pushed, slowly down to the silvery grass.

Without warning her mind oscillated between her body and his: she saw herself as he did, her eyes half-closed and smoky, hair spreading wildly, nose smudged with dirt, and yet transcendent, beautiful beyond all his experience, vibrantly alive. It was as if he were dying of thirst and she was a fountain; as if he were the question and she the answer. Then she was herself again, her arms and legs wrapped around him, pulling his mouth back down to hers, feeling his erection through his trousers. Every touch of him sent tiny shocks of pleasure singing from her core to her fingertips.

She could not slide her hands past his metal belt buckle. It was like a fortress.

"Undo this thing."

"Are you sure?" he breathed, low and rough.

"Dear God, _yes_."

Without warning, a brutal force tore Severus from her arms, and Hermione felt herself being hurled into space. She flailed, trying to scream, but she was moving so fast the breath was torn from her body. Gasping, she opened her eyes. She was flying, damp air howling past her, whipping against her face. The sky was dull pewter, and ahead sprawled a vast, dark mass of trees. A grove of oaks protruded from the mass like a fist.

With a shock, Hermione recognized the Forbidden Forest. She was home.

 _No! Severus!_ she tried to scream, but nothing came from her mouth but a soft murmuring, the same words over and over, faint through the howling air: "It'll be all right. Be all right." But it wasn't her voice. It was a man's voice. She looked down to see black-gloved hands guiding a broomstick. They weren't her hands. And it wasn't she who expertly coaxed the broom downwards in a graceful spiral toward a clearing about a hundred yards from the oak grove.

With sick panic, Hermione understood her life-force was trapped in someone else's body. Some unforeseen chaotic effect of the dark universe, whose laws she'd thought she'd finally understood, had pulled her into the Wizarding World in the wake of Diana and Terry's life-forces. But not all of her. Only her awareness, her personality—her soul. A moment later she realized she could feel what this broom-rider felt, see what he saw, yet she had no control. However much she raged, grieved, she could do nothing but watch in passive horror.

Hermione felt the dark soggy ground squelch under the broom-rider's boots as he dismounted. She saw six more riders land around him, all black-clad, silent as ravens on the hunt. They secured their brooms behind a massive log, one rider casting a protective spell, then stood in a ragged row facing the grove. The nearest trees loomed only yards away, and it seemed as if a chill darkness oozed out from beneath them, creeping toward the riders, daring them to come closer. Several hands twitched close to wand holsters. Hermione felt her rider's jaw clenching, his heart racing. Then something stirred behind the group and the rider whirled, his wand out, pulling in breath to shout a defensive spell.

"Hold!" said another rider. " _Lumos_!" It was a young woman's voice, full of command. As light flared from wand-tips, out of the gloom emerged a handsome face, flowing golden beard, and the muscular forelegs of a horse. Firenze. Hermione felt the rider's surge of relief at the sight of him. A second later another handsome face emerged from the dark, this one red-bearded. Then another centaur, and another, until half a dozen surrounded the Aurors. They stood utterly still, breath steaming in the dank air.

Firenze stepped forward. "The two found maimed in this grove were my students," he said quietly. "For that reason alone, I would help you even if none of my kin stood with me. But these brothers—" he inclined his head left, then right—" are willing, and for that I am grateful."

"I thought there were many more of you," said the young woman with the commanding voice. In the light cast by the wands, Hermione recognized her: Clara Ironstone, the unassuming Auror who had cracked a hundred cases. A search party? Were they looking for her?

 _No—it's too dangerous. Stay away!_ Hermione tried to make her rider open his mouth and warn them, but she could no more do that than fly his broom.

"The others of our kin are lost to us," said the red-bearded centaur, his face grim.

"Lost?" said Hermione's broom-rider. "What d'you mean?" It was the first time he had spoken out loud, and the sound of his voice shocked her so painfully that for a moment the world turned dark.

 _It's Ron. I'm IN Ron. Oh Merlin!_

"Somewhere in the forest's heart," said Ronan roughly. "A darker place now than ever we have known it. We cannot reach them."

"Enough," said Firenze. "Sunset is almost upon us." He looked at Ironstone. "Do you wish us to lead you into this grove?"

"That's why we're here."

He nodded once. "Then stay close to us. Do not stray from our sight, not for an instant."

Hermione thought she knew Ron intimately, yet no prison could have been stranger or more uncomfortable than being trapped in his body. Unable to do anything, let alone stop him from moving toward the grove, she found herself looking at Firenze and remembering his hideous counterparts in the other universe. With a chill of horror and guilt, she realized she had no idea what had happened to Eznerif and his murderous kin. Were they the lost ones? She hoped the magic she and Severus wrought had simply moved them somewhere. That it hadn't killed them.

She tried to think of Severus, to will herself back with him. But when she tried to pull away from Ron's body, it was as if she were chained to concrete. As she struggled, Ironstone turned to face Ron.

"You'll need to show us exactly where you found Diana and Terry. Can you do that?"

"Yeah," Ron's voice said curtly. Hermione felt his own sudden fear leap into her throat.

They turned toward the grove. "Wands," said Ironstone, then "Ready? _Protego Maximus_."

The eerie glow of their shields barely visible in the thickening twilight, the group walked slowly toward the grove's outer circle of trees, toward a malevolence that thickened and grew the closer they came. Hermione knew the deep gloom between the trees didn't just hide whatever watched them; it was the darkness; it was the shadow. She wanted Ron to stop, for them all to stop, go back, but all she could do was watch as they went on, the shadows reaching out almost visibly as if eager to touch them. Even Firenze seemed to hesitate a moment at the threshold, and one of the Aurors took a sharp, hissing breath.

"Steady," said Ironstone, but her voice sounded thin with tension.

At that moment the veil of cloud across the setting sun lifted, and a brilliant shaft of light stabbed into the heart of the oak grove. But something about the light looked wrong; instead of golden, it had a strange tinge, almost greenish. As they stepped into the grove, the greenish light grew stronger, as if it were gathering force.

"What is that?" Ronan growled. "Brother—?"

Firenze turned his head, his face strained. "I have never seen the like."

"Keep moving in," said Ironstone. "Aurors—alert!" Wands flicked, and the Protego shield arching over their heads bristled with ethereal spikes, spears, arrows, and slowly curling loops of flame.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, sounding impressed.

 _I helped create that,_ thought Hermione. She should have felt pride, but now she just hoped the shield would do its job.

Step by step, the search party penetrated the grove. The light from their shield and its armaments slid across the twisted trunks and gnarled branches of the ancient oaks. As the Aurors' light touched some of the branches, they moved, the leaves shivering as if trying to shrink away. But with each step they took toward the heart of the grove, the strange glow grew brighter, and then suddenly there was a clearing, and at its centre the most ancient oak of all. At its base gaped a black hollow where Ron had found the two comatose students. Now they could barely see the tree, only a twisted silhouette outlined in a green brilliance painful to look at.

"Where—" Ironstone began, but then the glow began to writhe and a wall of wind hurled itself at them, clutching at Hermione with icy fingers. She felt herself being ripped out of Ron, and her voice at last broke free of its prison. _Ron! Stay back!_ As her cry filled the grove, as the gale yanked her life-force savagely toward the great oak, she heard Ron roar "Hermione! It's Hermione!" With fading vision she saw him leap toward her, his wand slashing.

"Hermione! Hold on!"

 _No!_ _Stay away!_ she screamed as chaos took her.

* * *

 **Notes:**

I'm sure it's apparent I'm no mathematician or physicist ;-). But thank you Banglabou, no-name, and FrancineHibiscus for your encouraging comments!

Chapter 14, "Strange Attractors," will be posted August 30.


	15. Chapter 14--Strange attractors

**Chapter Fourteen: "Strange attractors"**

Hermione found herself crouching, shielding her eyes against a wild wind that no longer blew. With a surge of unspeakable relief at being back in her body, she lowered her hands to see the glowing grove around her . . . and Severus, swaying on his feet: coat askew, hair straggling out of its queue, face deadly white. She took a shuddering breath. He was alive; she was back with him; she hadn't abandoned him. Then she saw his gaze fixed on something behind her. Staggering to her feet, she turned to see a faint light flickering like a torch over the spot where Diana and Terry's life forces had struggled for survival. Even as she stared, the light ballooned into a sphere the size of a classroom globe. Now it shone a dim grey, like a moon reflecting the ash-light of a dying sun, and whorls of tattered wind rattled the overhanging branches of the luminescent trees.

" _Nox Aeturna!_ " Severus's voice sounded as ragged as he looked. From his fingers sprang a bolt of blackness that stabbed into the heart of the sphere. Almost immediately the sphere grew a few inches larger, its dim grey glow brightening to pewter.

He whirled to Hermione, his expression baffled. "I've no idea what this is."

Hermione groped for her wand (how could she, how _could_ she have just let it drop?), found it, and scrambled to her feet. " _Lux Aeturna_!" she croaked. Though she felt as empty of magic as a licked honey pot, a golden thread of power sprang from her wand-tip and sizzled over the sphere. If the spell had an opposite effect, it would douse that ominous light. Yet the sphere only grew, bloating in seconds to globe-sized to human-sized as if gorging on Hermione's magic. It now glowed silver-green, and its lower rim almost touched the ground.

"Stop!" cried Severus, and she did, panting. The sphere was so bright it hurt her eyes and turned the luminescent trees into black silhouettes, casting thin, dancing shadows that seemed to grope toward them. She and Severus backed away, step by step.

The sphere began to pulse.

"Get back!" shouted Severus, and shoved her so hard she fell.

In a soundless cataclysm of cold light that filled the entire valley, the sphere splintered. Hermione buried her head in her arms.

After a while, she sensed rather than saw the light fading. She felt rather than heard the silence, tense as a pulled bow-string, broken only by ragged breathing. At last she raised her head. The sphere had vanished; the trees again shone with their gentle luminescence. But she had eyes only for Severus Snape, standing dark above her, his face utterly expressionless.

"What _was_ that?" he said, low and harsh.

Hermione shook her head, her mind whirling, trying to put senseless pieces together in some way that resembled a logical construction. She had drawn the equations for the wormhole; their combined power had opened it; the life-essences had vanished through it. And then the aftermath: the truth about Severus, the truth of him, and that sweet, brilliant, astonishing attraction, the yearning that had taken her, taken both of them with a force more powerful than anything she'd ever known, even in the hollow tree.

Until that brutal chaotic force tore them apart and threw her into her own universe, into Ron's body of all things, then just as brutally yanked her back.

Why? How? Hadn't she completed the equations, made the spell as ironclad as quantum magic could possibly be with all its uncertainties?

No. She hadn't.

 _Oh god. Oh sweet lord of light. I conjured phase space—where strange attractors can converge. And then . . ._

"I forgot," she mumbled.

"What?" said Snape, his eyes darkening.

Hermione raised her chin, feeling every inch like a stupid child who'd fatally bolluxed up her O.W.L.s. "To send Diana and Terry back, I had to conjure a dynamical equation field," she said, dry-mouthed. "It allowed strange attractors to converge. But the attractors need to be controlled, or else the field manifests a repelling structure." She cleared her throat. "To prevent that, I needed to close the final equation. But . . . I forgot."

"Forgot," repeated Snape, his voice utterly flat.

"And that caused the field to oscillate," she said, forcing herself to sound calm. "In this case, the backlash actually threw me back into the Wizarding World. For a few minutes, I was _home_."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Snape growled. "You went nowhere. A wind bowled us over. You were sprawled on the ground."

"Only my body." She shivered with the cold realization of how close she had come to forever losing her consciousness, her essence. The building blocks of the equation were called Heisenberg symbols for damn good reasons.

Suddenly Snape fixed his attention on the ground beneath where the grey sphere had manifested. Then Hermione heard soft, ragged breathing . . . coming from neither her nor Snape. She spun around. Where the two tiny trees had stood sprawled a bundle of what looked like black rags. The rags moved, and a man pushed himself up on his elbows, his black stocking cap half off, coppery hair sticking out. He stared at them, white-faced and glassy-eyed.

"H—Hermione?"

As she stared in horror at her ex-husband, Ron's eyes fluttered, and he slumped face-down on the soft silvery grass.

* * *

"Anything?" Sekhmet's voice echoed harshly off the walls of the potions classroom.

"Not a sausage," said Khonsu at last, his thin mouth curling. It hardly needed saying; even a Squib would have felt the complete absence of magic, the dead nothingness permeating every molecule of the place. The office door gaped open, and the glow of detection spells from five wands glanced across the dusty, dishevelled shelves, the battered table, the decade-old papers scattered on the stone floor, the shards of smashed phials.

Sekhmet at last turned to Harry. "If it weren't for your report," she said, stressing the last word as if nothing could be less believable, "I would say absolutely nothing happened here, except a few fun-loving Slytherins breaking in and vandalizing the place."

"I know what I saw. What we saw," said Harry, keeping his voice calm. "Something was here this morning, and it's not here now. Or at least, it's not detectable."

"The only magic we can't detect," Sekhmet said, her tone deadly, "is magic that never existed in the first place."

"What the guv's thinking," said Khonsu with a nod to Sekhmet, "and what I'd say we're all thinking, is that we're barking up the wrong bloody tree down here." His eyes glittered with hostility. "We're wasting our time."

"We should be in the Forest with the others," said Horus, shifting from one foot to the other. "That's where the action is, yeah."

"Our redeployment is with Group Red. The school grounds," said Sekhmet. She sounded as bitter as Khonsu's expression. "Potter and I will finish down here and meet you at the gate in ten minutes."

The Aurors hesitated.

"Get upstairs, you lot!" barked Sekhmet. "Move!"

As they slipped out of the old classroom Bast glanced back, and it seemed to Harry she looked half embarrassed and half apologetic. Then he and the patrol leader stood alone before the open office.

"Well," she said. "Aren't you going to lock up?"

Right. He'd rather be buggered than make things easy for these up-your-arse Aurors. Without looking at Sekhmet, Harry closed and secured the door by hand, then backed away a few paces. His wand moving in elegant patterns, he muttered an obscure Double-Locking charm dredged from the days of Dumbledore's Army. Ron would know it. So would Ginny. And McGonagall would also be able to break it, eventually. All the while, the grey-haired woman watched him with folded arms, as if she were judging him.

"You knew we'd find nothing down here, didn't you," Sekhmet said at last, almost pleasantly. "Why did you take us through this futile exercise, Potter? To test our competence?"

"Does it need testing?" The words came out before Harry could stop them. The Auror's lips thinned, and her cold grey eyes went flinty.

"When we lost sight of you, when you ducked into that cupboard, what exactly did you find?" She took a step toward him. "If you're holding back information. . ."

Harry spread both hands, shaking his head. "Sorry." He met her hard gaze. "I'm not holding anything back. Nothing's here. It _was_ here, but now it's not, and I don't know why." His own voice hardened. "Believe me when I tell you I am _not_ fucking around. Not when two students might be dying. Not when one of my oldest friends has been missing for four days."

Sekhmet held his gaze a moment, then her eyes flickered away. "Are we done here?"

Harry sighed. "Yeah."

As they turned to leave the haunted classroom, they heard a sound: a rapid, frantic pounding—faint at first, then louder. Footfalls, beating down the corridor toward them. Sekhmet stiffened, her wand ready, and Harry was raising his as the doors burst open and Hagrid staggered through, his eyes wild, chest heaving.

"They're awake!" he gasped. "They're awake! Headmistress wants yeh in the infirmary!"

Harry simply stared at Hagrid.

"Awake," he repeated. Then with a crash of excitement, he understood.

* * *

Hermione had fallen to her knees by Ron, her first instinct to turn him so he was lying on his side. Snape had not moved, not spoken. At last she looked up to see him staring at Ron with an expression bordering on repugnance.

"You know him," he said. "How?"

Not a good time to tell all. She cleared her throat. "He was—another student in your potions class. And my friend."

Snape tilted his head as if to study Ron's face more closely. "My student. Yes. An obnoxious little toad, as I vaguely remember." He looked back at Hermione. "Pulled in by the oscillation of your spell?" His lip curled. "That strange attractor you forgot to control?"

"It's hard to explain," she said softly. "But I _was_ in the Wizarding World. Not my body; my mind." She indicated Ron. "I was somehow trapped inside his head. He was with a search party—"

Snape interrupted. "Inside _his_ head?" He shot her a narrow, almost suspicious look. "Your strange attractor did that?"

"He was a friend."

Snape extended a boot as if to prod Ron's shoulder, but Hermione flung out a hand.

"No. Don't wake him up."

"Would you prefer to leave him here?" he snarled. "For her to feed on? She's coming, Granger. We have to get out of this valley. Now."

"If I wake him up, he'll be too sick to move! Remember how I felt when I first arrived?"

Snape stooped. With frightening strength he yanked her to her feet, then pushed his face close to hers. "Don't you understand?" he said, low and furious. "This is her feeding place. If we confront her here, she'll tap into energies we can't possibly match. Our only hope is to draw her away. So either wake your friend right now or leave him here to die. Your choice."

"Give him your potion," she flung back. "It helped me. It will help him."

"No. There's only a mouthful left—barely enough for you. _Not_ enough for him."

Hermione turned violently from Snape and stooped to check Ron. His eyes moved restlessly behind closed lids, and he moaned. Briefly she thought of reconstructing the M-spell, sending Ron back the way he'd come, but even as she considered that, she knew she couldn't raise that much power by herself. Could she keep him unconscious—move him by Mobilicorpus? Would that even work in this universe, or would she have to concoct some weird variant?

Snape was rummaging in his rucksack. A moment later she heard him opening a flask, and the heartening, fresh aroma of peppermint and ginger bathed her like a shaft of sunlight piercing black clouds. "Listen to me, Granger," he said, his voice calm, even. "Whatever you may think of me, whether or not you trust me, you must believe that woman is our enemy—mine as much as yours. She intends to take the Wizarding World. Through her gateway she will send every hideous thing imaginable, every evil she is capable of conjuring, and she will feed on your universe, feed on everything and everyone you love." His voice sank, and she remembered with a shot of childlike fear that the more softly the potions master spoke, the greater his fury. "And the more she feeds, the more the properties of this universe will leach into yours—until your world becomes _just like this one_. A dark universe with no hope left."

Snape's eyes seemed to blaze with black fire, as if he were struggling with a rage he could barely contain. "And when that happens," he whispered, "do you know what she'll do next?"

Hermione forced her dry lips to form words. "Another gateway."

"Top marks, Granger. Another gateway to another universe, which she will also consume. And on and on, without end." His face twisted. "Her hunger is limitless."

She wanted to look away, but she couldn't; those black eyes held her; the rough silk of his voice wrapped itself around her. Dimly she thought of Legilimency and whether she should be trying to Occlude him.

"Listen to me," he whispered. "She has never confronted a power like yours before. With it, I believe you could destroy the gateway. You could make it so she can never re-use it, nor even build another. You could forever put an end to this. But _you must survive long enough to try_. This potion will buy you the time you need." He looked at her again. "Drink it now . . . please . . . Hermione."

Never before had he called her by her first name. She searched his face, desperately trying to tell whether she was hearing truth or lies, but it was impossible to know which part of him was speaking: Snape the cunning survivor, his humanity possibly warped beyond repair by this universe and the thing controlling it; or Severus, who had offered her the shards of his soul as if she were the only one in the multiverse who could put it back together. A man broken but capable of healing. A man who needed and wanted her.

He held out the open flask. As if in a dream, she took it.

At that moment Ron flung out an arm and groaned. As Snape looked down at him, his gaze full of contempt, Hermione felt as though a rope between them had snapped. Ron groaned again, a sound full of distress. With a shaky breath, she bent to examine her ex-husband.

 _Oh God. He's going to wake up._

"We're out of time," said Snape tightly. He grasped her shoulder and tried to pull her around to face him. "Take the potion! Now!"

Slowly, she raised the flask to her lips.

Snape took a step back, his shoulders relaxing.

Hermione whirled, the potion sloshing dangerously, and dropped to her knees beside Ron. As she slid one hand under his head to raise it, she heard Snape's hissing curse, his quick step; sensed his hand darting down to seize the flask from her. Suddenly harsh green light exploded behind them, drowning the soft glow of the life-trees. Snape recoiled, then whirled so quickly to face the light that the open edge of his coat slapped her cheek. As the green glow flared and steadied, a cold wind sprang up, bringing to Hermione the smell of something old and foul.

And then the voice—low, throaty, ripe with seduction.

"I was getting tired of waiting for you . . . Severussss."

* * *

Not even the sickly green flames of the Floo, thought Harry, could make his wife's face look anything but beautiful. When she saw him, she lit up with a sparkling, mischievous smile that reminded him why he loved her—though these days, what with one thing and another, that smile came rarely. Harry took a deep breath, hating himself for what he had to tell her.

"'Lo, Red," he said softly.

"Good to see you, lovely." As her eyes probed him, her smile faded. A crease appeared between her brows. "You look wrecked. What's happening?"

Harry gave her the good news first. The two comatose seventh-years had somehow, spontaneously awoken. "Madam Pomfrey says they're going to be fine," he told a relieved Ginny, "but they have no idea what happened or where they've been."

 _"There were trees all around us, and they glowed," said Diana, looking small and wan in her infirmary bed. "They were so beautiful, yet there was something sad about them." She hesitated, then added softly, "Sad—and dangerous. I don't know why."_

 _"And then we were just pulled," said Terry, half sitting up. "Yanked away from—wherever that was—back to here."_

"Do the kids know who took them?" said Ginny, recalling Harry to the here and now. For a moment he wondered whether he should reveal his own growing fear that someone impersonating the long-dead Severus Snape lurked at the heart of the abductions; that the same impersonator manipulated the on-again, off-again darkness invading the dungeons.

"No," he said, instinct telling him to let that sleeping snake lie for now. "Just something vague about a man in black."

His wife looked grim. "A Death Eater. Someone who gets his jollies from terrorizing kids."

"We're looking into that. We're looking into everything."

Ginny nodded, then fell silent, looking pensive. Harry waited. At last he said neutrally, "We still haven't found Hermione. . . in case you're wondering."

Her brows drew down. "Is that why Ron isn't with you? He's gone looking for her, hasn't he? No—" she held up a hand as if warding off Harry's unspoken protest "—don't get me wrong. I want her to be found as much as anyone. But Ron's an idiot if he thinks a heroic rescue will make her come back to him."

"About that. . ." Harry hesitated. "There's more news. It isn't good."

As Ginny's eyes widened, as she went very still, Harry told her how he, McGonagall, and Hagrid had been summoned from the students' bedsides to the Headmaster's Tower where Firenze waited, sides still heaving after his hard gallop from the oak grove. How they had listened in growing horror as the centaur described the green light that blazed from the heart of the eldest oak, the sudden vicious wind, an eerie cry that sounded almost like Hermione Granger's voice—and Ron racing toward that cry, unstoppable. Then as Firenze finished that part of the tale, how Clara Ironstone and her Aurors had arrived, reporting how they scoured the grove from ground and air, invoked every Finding spell in the book and beyond . . . and found nothing. No Ron. No Hermione. No signs of magic.

And then Harry told her how Ironstone had gently laid Ron's broomstick on McGonagall's great desk.

Through the wavering Floo light, Harry could see Ginny's eyes growing enormous, brilliant. At first he thought the brilliance was tears; a breath later, he realized it was rage, barely contained. For a second he found himself wondering if she thought it was his fault Ron was missing; his fault for not joining Ron's patrol, not looking out for her brother as he had done since practically their first day at Hogwarts.

"Ginny," he said, but she turned away. He watched her take a deep breath. Another. At last she met his eyes.

"He was looking for Hermione." Her voice shook a bit. "Is anyone looking for _him_?"

"We'll be out there at dawn. Half the faculty at least. Every Auror the Ministry can spare. All the Forest denizens Hagrid can round up."

"And you," she whispered.

"Of course me," he said roughly. "I'm taking a team to the oak grove. The Aurors—" he hesitated, thinking of Sekhmet's icy skepticism "—they don't know the Forest like we do. I think we'll find something they didn't. And I'm not leaving that oak grove until we do."

Her eyes did fill with tears then. He swallowed, wishing he could put his arms around his wife, cursing Hogwarts for not having a real Floo network instead of this pale imitation that let people see and talk but never touch.

"I can't just—sit here at home, Harry. I have to do something!"

He forced himself to grin. "You _are_ doing something, Red. You're looking after Jamey and little Al. Protecting them. That's the most important job of all."

"My mother could do that, if needs must," she spat. "I want to help with the search."

"I'm sorry, Red," said Harry. "I'm really sorry. But the last thing I need is to worry about you as well." He made a helpless gesture. "You were an Auror. You understand. Right?"

Ginny bit her lip as if forcing her temper back.

"Yeah," she said at last. "I understand."

 **Note:** Thank you for reading-and many thanks to FrancineHibiscus, Banglabou, and no-name! I appreciate your reactions and am so glad you're enjoying the story.

Chapter 15, "The Gate-maker," will be up September 3.


	16. Chapter 15--The Gate-maker

**Chapter Fifteen: "The Gate-maker"**

The nightmare had returned. It was as if Hermione were again crouched under the willow, seeing the woman in green with Snape, those smooth golden arms reaching up around his neck to pull him to the ground. She heard the rustle of Snape's coat, the slow scuff of his boots as he took a step toward that seductive voice. Suddenly rage and revulsion rose into her throat like bile, and the almost empty flask of restorative potion in her hand seemed like a millstone. Snape had told her to drink it so she would survive, so together they might stand a chance. But what if the woman in green had enthralled Snape past all return? Then Hermione's strength would serve only darkness and hunger and death.

But perhaps she could at least help Ron. He might be a bitter ex-spouse, but before that he'd been her staunch friend. And she knew all too well what he was going through as his body rebelled against this realm. Raising his head, Hermione swiftly tipped the last of the potion into his mouth. As he spluttered, she gently caught each stray drop and wiped it over his lips. "All of it," she whispered. "You need all of it." His head moved from side to side as if trying to refuse.

Then the woman in green spoke, her rich voice bubbling with barely suppressed laughter.

"How sweet to see such wifely loyalty. . . _Mrs Weasley._ "

Behind Hermione, Snape froze. At that moment Ron's eyes opened and he looked at her, his gaze clear and focused.

"It _is_ you," he whispered. A faint, crooked smile. "You all right?"

She made herself smile back. "Yeah. You?"

He frowned. "I felt like death. So dizzy." He started to push himself up. "Better now." Dropping the empty flask, Hermione helped Ron sit, then steadied him as he looked around. Dismissing the glowing trees, he squinted up at the figure in black standing close by. His expression changed from bewilderment to a mix of disbelief and fear, and his legs moved jerkily as if he were trying to stand up.

"No. Don't move," Hermione whispered to Ron. Slowly, her whole body shaking from the pounding of her heart, she stood up and turned. Snape's back was toward her, his rigid body angled toward the woman in green, the gate-maker, who stood only a few yards away. The pulsating light from her emerald cloak suffused the entire grove and limned the sculpted oval face, the hair like a black river falling past her shoulders, the full, lushly curved lips that now moved in a lazy half-smile. But the green-gold, thick-lashed eyes were blank, cold, unblinking—the eyes of a predator. Suddenly the world seemed to twist, and it seemed to Hermione that she saw her own self through the gate-maker's merciless stare: a plain, frizzy-haired, dwarfish little swot, dirty-faced and ragged, with no real power other than a few fancy equations and some foolish wand-waving. That was all she could be and would ever be to anyone. To Ron. To Severus Snape.

 _No_ , said her practical, rational side, that inner swot. _This is only a glamour. You can break it._

Drawing both hands to her chest as if in pain, Hermione wrapped the fingers of her right hand around her left wrist where the warm, polished shaft of her wand ended. She whispered, " _Veritas lux mea_." An unseen force leapt from her clasped hands, and the brilliant emerald cloak flared and dimmed. The gate-maker's face convulsed, the predator's eyes squeezed shut as a dull grey-green meniscus rippled over the nightfall of her hair, the smooth olive skin of her face, the round breasts swelling from her parted cloak. Tiny cracks began to appear in the flawless skin, and Hermione sensed a hideous unseen reality crawling beneath that impossible beauty. The woman's eyes opened, but this time they held no power—only rage and fear—and suddenly Hermione could breathe again. " _Veritas lux mea_!" she cried aloud, focusing all her energy on illuminating the truth . . . and on not being afraid.

She pushed, _pushed_. The gate-maker gave a strangled cry.

Snape whirled to Hermione, his mouth a rictus of agony, black hair loosely straggling around a face drained white. "I must do this," he whispered. "I have no choice." She had a second to wonder whether he would clasp her hand, join his power again with hers. Then she felt a stunning blow to her middle and she was flat on the ground, the wind knocked out of her, her magic unspooling, the energy dissipating. The next instant Snape leaned over her, and her wand was yanked from her sleeve. She heard Ron yelling—"No! No! You fucking bastard, you traitor, you—" then Snape hissed something, and an abrupt silence fell. As she finally managed to pull in a whooping breath, the edge of a black coat filled her vision. Snape stooped over her, and she felt her own wand against her neck as if it were a knife. Then she heard him whisper in her ear, "I had to do this. Your lives depend on it." Then he straightened and said aloud, "She is immobilized."

Hermione lay absolutely still, looking up at the heavy grey-green clouds of this world that seemed to hang only yards above them, as if about to descend on the valley of glowing trees. How could she have thought them beautiful, those trapped life essences? How could she have thought her power could make any difference to their survival? As tears filled her eyes she heard a soft rustling, and then two faces stared down at her: Snape's, as grim as she had ever seen it, and the gate-maker's, her face again flawless, the green-gold eyes alive with a dangerous mix of amusement and fury.

"With her wand and her knowledge," she said, laughter lacing her voice, "I'll be able to cross over much sooner than I'd planned. A thoughtful gift, Severus." She arched a brow at Snape. "But you delayed rather a long time before incapacitating her. Surely you weren't hoping she'd win." She extended a long, slender finger and ran it down the side of Snape's face, and Hermione saw a muscle in his cheek jump. " _Were_ you hoping? Just a little?"

"I felt," he said softly, "that you should see her power first hand. But I had every confidence you would prevail."

Now she did laugh, a sweet rippling that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. "Darling Severus. You always know how to please me. Which is very wise." Unclasping her emerald cloak, she gracefully shifted her shoulders to let it fall. "Now you can please me even more." Taking Snape's hands, she leaned toward him and darted her pink, pointed tongue against his lips.

"Here?" said Snape hoarsely.

Tilting a languid, amused glance down at Hermione, the woman in green brought Snape's hands to her breasts. "Where better?"

In helpless horror, tears leaking from eyes that dared not look away, Hermione watched as the gate-maker captured Snape's mouth with hers. But over her cheek's perfect curve Snape caught Hermione's agonized gaze, and it seemed to her his eyes blazed not with passion but with pain. Then he pulled slightly away from his mistress and flexed his right hand at Hermione, mouthing words she couldn't hear.

She felt her eyes closing, and a wave of gentle darkness carried her away.

* * *

Dull pre-dawn light crept behind the hills to the east of Hogwarts, turning them black and sinister. Just outside the main gate, the search party was starting to assemble. Harry—one of the first to arrive—shifted from foot to foot, feeling both restless and tired. He'd spent a terrible night. Though the guest bed couldn't have been more comfortable, he'd lain stiffly on his back, staring up at the magically star-dusted ceiling of his private room in the Headmaster's Tower. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw Ginny's green-lit face in the Floo, her expression drawn tight with fury. He heard his own words, over and over: _The last thing I need is to worry about you_. By Merlin's forked tongue, he wished he could unsay those words, or at least draw the memory from her mind and lose it somewhere in the bottom of a Pensieve. Preferably a bottomless one.

But the image of Ginny's hurt, furious face soon slipped into a memory of their terrible row over that desk job. I _don't want you in the field anymore, Harry. You have a family now. You have responsibilities._ Of course the Weasleys had taken her side: a battle impossible to win. Which was how he'd become The Boy Who'd Taken a Safe Ministry Desk Job. And as the tiny magical stars above him winked and twinkled, Harry had realized something else. Despite his piercing worry over Ron and Hermione, the past two days had been—oh, bloody hell, why not admit it—the most meaningful in years. He'd shown he could stand up against the Ministry's best. He could more than keep up with field operatives like Sekhmet and Khonsu.

Now the long night was over, and it was a relief to face the prospect of testing himself again. If things went well today, Ginny would surely see that. She might even be persuaded to let him take a job or two.

Just outside Hogwarts' gate, Clara Ironstone formed the nexus of a slowly growing gathering of searchers: almost all the visiting Aurors and a small group of Hogwarts' most experienced faculty. Harry spotted Vector, Sprout, charms-master Tiddles, defense-master Stormcloud, and even tiny Flitwick—all kitted out in caps, heavy jackets, trousers, and stout boots. Harry was startled to see shrivelled old Madam Pince there as well, swathed in a warm cloak. No wonder: Harry shivered as the damp air began to penetrate his thick field gear, and he muttered a quick warming charm. Everyone seemed subdued; even Clara kept her voice low as she assigned her Aurors to different patrols.

At length she turned to Harry. "Still game for the oak grove?"

He nodded. "Absolutely."

A flash of approval. "Good." She looked over her shoulder. "Sekhmet. Bast. You're with Harry."

Sekhmet. It would have to be her. The grey-haired Auror raised her eyebrows, crossed her arms over her chest, and regarded Harry with a hint of a smirk. Harry stared back blandly.

"Just us three," he said. "Cosy."

Clara narrowed her eyes at him. "Four," she said. "Ronan will meet you outside the grove and guide you in. He knows it as well as Firenze."

"Right," said Sekhmet. "Anything else, guv?"

Clara stepped away from them and swept her gaze around the now considerable crowd of searchers. "Everyone." Her voice was low, yet clear and carrying—an Amplification charm, Harry suspected. "Two absolute rules. First, never, ever stray from your patrol." At that, Sekhmet shot Harry a glinting look. "At all times, stay within someone else's sight. Second, no heroics. No one charges into the breach alone. You work with your patrol or you send your Patronus for reinforcements." She paused: a small, almost plain young woman, yet all eyes were upon her. "If you break either rule, you're off the search. Is that clear?"

"CLEAR, GUV," roared the Aurors in unison, visibly startling the Hogwarts contingent. After a moment, Vector harrumphed. "Understood," she said. "Right-o," said Flitwick. Clara shot a quick look at Harry. "Clear," he said.

"Right," said Clara. "Brooms, prepare for flight. Those of you Apparating, wait for my signal. As soon as Madam Pince lowers the firewall—" the librarian gave a single, sour nod "—you'll have ten seconds to get clear before she re-activates it."

Relieved the frail old woman had no intention of joining the search, Harry stepped away from the murmurous hubbub. As he checked his broom, he heard something strange in the deep shadows off to his left: a soft pop. He stiffened, peering into the gloom. Something stirred, and his hand flew to his wand holster.

A figure emerged, hands raised.

"Harry! It's me!"

"Ginny?"

As his wife approached, Harry saw she wore field kit very similar to his, the magical fabric of jacket and trousers now the deep colour of twilit underbrush, fiery hair concealed by a black knit cap. Her fine oval face looked pale and drawn.

"Ginny! How—?" She couldn't have Apparated, he thought confusedly. The firewall extended halfway to Hogsmeade.

Ginny stopped about three feet from him, her eyes searching his face. "I had to come. I couldn't just sit at home doing nothing. The boys are fine," she added quickly. "Mum has them."

Harry took a deep breath. "I'm really sorry about last night. I was an idiot. But—honestly, Red. I just don't think—"

With an effortless move, she drew her wand. "I've been practising," she said almost pleasantly. "I think you'll find I can take care of myself."

"Ginny. . ."

"Problems, Potter?" Harry whirled to see Sekhmet behind him, arms still crossed, smirk full-blown.

Ginny slid past Harry and thrust her face at the Auror. "I'm Ginny Potter, in case you don't recognize me," she said, her voice low and tense. "You're searching for my missing brother, aren't you? Well, I'm joining you."

As Harry sensed the rest of the party zeroing in on them, their murmuring spiked with interest, Clara Ironstone stepped between Ginny and Sekhmet. "I know what you must be feeling," she said to Ginny. "But I'm afraid—"

"Don't patronize me," Ginny snapped. "I know Ron better than any of you. That's a tactical advantage." She topped Clara by a good three or four inches, and now she drew herself and stared down at the team leader, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "I'm an asset. Put me to use."

Clara held Ginny's gaze. Harry sensed a dangerous tension building. His fingers automatically tightened around his wand.

"Well?" said Ginny.

"No," said Clara.

Ginny smiled grimly. "I won't take no for an answer."

" _Petrificus Totalis_ ," said Clara softly.

Ginny's eyes widened first in shock, then fury as the wandless attack took hold. Clara reached to steady her, but it was Harry who caught his wife's stiff body and eased her to the ground. Clara crouched beside them; before he could stop her, she put a hand on Ginny's shoulder and said to her softly, "I'm sorry. But I'm not authorized to let you come, and there's no time to convince you more politely." Her mouth quirked. "Don't worry. You're not the first I've had to turn down . . . though you're the first I've had to petrify."

Ginny's eyes still blazed. With a sigh, Clara rocked back on her heels. "I can't spare anyone to take you outside the Apparation firewall, so you'll have to stay here. But if you really want to help, the Aurors staying here to guard the students could use a hand. Are you willing?"

Ginny gave a slow blink.

"All right." Clara rose to her feet. " _Finite Incantatem._ Again, I'm sorry I had to do that."

Harry extended a hand to help Ginny up, but she pulled away from him and got lithely to her feet. Dusting herself off, she said to Clara in a low, hard voice, "Would you like to know how I got here? I Apparated. _Through your firewall._ "

As Clara's eyes narrowed, Ginny whirled away and stalked over to the gate. She pointedly ignored Madam Pince, who frowned at her like a gargoyle. Harry took a couple of steps to follow his wife, but felt a hand on his arm.

"Later, Harry," said Clara. "It's almost sunrise. We must leave now."

For a moment longer Harry stood, willing Ginny to look at him. At last he sighed, picked up the broomstick he'd let fall, and plodded over to the other searchers. Moments later, the foot patrols vanished with soft pops, and the broom-riders rose en masse into the misty sky. As he rose higher and a thin blade of sun seared the tops of the black hills, Harry looked down at Hogwarts' gate. But Ginny was gone.

* * *

"Hermione. Wake up!"

How strange. Ron never got up before she did. That meant she'd overslept, which meant no time for breakfast and a long, tedious queue at the Ministry's Apparition station. But she didn't want to move. The darkness wrapped her in comfort, and she let herself sink back toward sleep.

"Wake up!" Ron was shaking her shoulder.

"Go way," she mumbled. But now the comforting darkness rippled uneasily, shot through with a grey-green glow that reminded her of something she didn't want to face. Something horrible. Then hands grasped both her shoulders and yanked her up until she sat, her head lolling, against something hard and bone-chillingly cold.

"I need to know you're OK," said Ron, and now he sounded peculiar, like someone wanting to shout but only able to whisper. "Open your eyes, Hermione."

Why would he need to know she was OK? Was she ill? And why was the bedroom wall so cold? Hermione squeezed her eyes open a crack, caught a blurry glimpse of Ron's face only inches from hers, a tense line drawn deep between his brows. Then a skein of dizziness twisted through her, and she shut her eyes again with a groan.

"Fuck," said Ron. "OK. Just stay still." He took his hands from her shoulders. She heard him stand up; heard him breathing fast and tense. She kept her head still. As the dizziness began to fade, she had the strangest sense of something deeply wrong. What was Ron doing here? He shouldn't be here—not after she'd packed everything into her beloved beaded purse, written Ron a note, and walked away without looking back. She had her own flat. She could bury herself in twelve to fifteen-hour days in her lab at the D.O.M. Treat herself whenever she wanted to curry take-away, which Ron hated. Be absolutely free of the Weasleys' smothering control. No more awkward evasions as to why there was yet no grandchild for Molly and Arthur.

Then everything flooded back, all her memories of where she was and what had happened: the black forest and twisted centaur-things, the hollow tree, the Darkness Visible, the glowing grove. Her wand weaving the M-spell, twisting equations out of quantum chaos. And Snape. The moment she had lain, not quite petrified but not daring to move, unable to look away as above her, the gate-maker had kissed Severus Snape. Unable to look away as that hungry mouth opened against his. At last, mercifully, Snape had gestured to her, and Hermione's vision had blurred—white hands, black coat, green cloak running together like a painting in the rain.

And now she remembered something else. As darkness wrapped itself around her, she thought she'd heard Snape whisper—"Not here. In your bed, my lady. It will be worth the wait."

Hermione shuddered, her eyes fluttering open. All around her gleamed polished, stone-like surfaces, like someone's idea of a minimalist luxury flat, lit with a fitful greenish light that seemed to emanate from inside the walls. Instantly she knew they were imprisoned inside the great building she had first seen from the cliff-top. She looked up to see Ron standing above her. _I'm sorry_ , she wanted to say. _I didn't mean to bring you to this horrible place, this nightmare_. But as she drew breath, she saw they faced an open doorway beyond which something slowly moved, something dark and very large. It gave a heavy growl. "What the hell," she heard Ron whisper, his voice cracking with tension.

She moved, trying to push herself up, and Ron reached a hand to help her to her feet. They stood together like the children they had once been, but now utterly without defense as they faced the thing in the doorway. In the sickly light they saw a massive head covered with coarse hair, a lumpish nose, a bristling beard, a row of huge blunt teeth. The head dipped, an enormous shoulder pushed through, then into the room came the rest. It straightened, the enormous and hideously human-like head brushing the high ceiling, then swivelled toward them. Small red eyes fastened on them avidly. The slash of a mouth opened, and a thin line of drool spiralled down into the beard.

"Hagrid?" Ron whispered.

"No," said Hermione, dry-mouthed. "It's not." The dull red eyes held no spark of kindness or intelligence—only mindless hunger.

Ron's hand jerked toward his left sleeve, and he spat a curse when he found it empty. The Hagrid-thing's mouth opened wider in a hideous smile, baring teeth like shovels. As it took a shuffling step toward them, it made a horrible, burbling sound, like someone screaming through a mouthful of blood. Ron took a step back, pulling Hermione with him. Then impossibly, he gave her a quick, tense grin.

"If you and your D.O.M. mates've been messing with new wandless tricks, now would be a good time to demonstrate."

"I—I'll try." Hermione flexed her right hand, groping for the power that had once effortlessly coursed through her fingers and repelled the gate-maker's defenses. Nothing, no sign of energy, no flicker of light. Still she flung up her hand, fingers splayed. " _Repellocorpus_!" The Hagrid-thing grinned and, with another strangled moan, lurched closer. " _Adproximo_ "! she cried in desperation, but the Hagrid-thing's mindless grin only widened. As it shambled toward them, the thin line of drool running from its mouth thickened to a rope.

" _Not_ working," said Ron in a manic sing-song.

"Let me think," she said desperately.

"No time." His voice lowered. "When I let go of your hand, dodge around his right as quick as you can. I'll go left.

"Are you mad?"

"He's slow. It's our only chance." Ron dropped her left hand. "Now!" He gave her a hard shove, and she plunged toward the half-giant. It huffed in surprise as she ducked beneath its massive arm and sprang into a run toward the open doorway. One, two strides—then huge fingers dug into her waist and she screamed, thrashing, as the Hagrid-thing lifted her off her feet. From Ron's strangled shout, she realized he'd also been caught. The thing crooned again, a low sound alive with mindless appetite.

So much for slow.

Hermione sank her teeth into the nearest finger. She was rewarded with a snarl and a savage tightening around her waist that made her gasp for air.

" _Stop!_ "

Snape's voice cut through the room like a whip. The Hagrid-thing hesitated; its grasp on Hermione's waist loosened just enough for her to take in a ragged, gulping breath.

"Put. Them. _Down_ ," said Snape in the low, deadly tone she remembered from her student days.

With a huffing grunt, the half-giant opened his fingers and dropped Hermione. She landed hard, staggered, then Ron was at her side, pulling her toward the tall figure silhouetted in the doorway. Snape extended his right hand, and Hermione saw with a cold shock that he held a wand. _Her wand._ Silver light flared from its tip, and the Hagrid-thing gave a long, shrieking moan. Hermione whirled to see the massive body sliding to the floor. The room shook with the impact.

Ron and Hermione exchanged stunned looks as Snape slid Hermione's wand back into his sleeve.

"Is—is he—?" She couldn't finish the sentence, any more than she could take her eyes off the prone half-giant.

"Unconscious," said Snape. "It seems he's too valuable for killing. Sadly." He swept Hermione and Ron with a cool glance, the corner of his thin mouth curled in a slight sneer, as if they were two grubby third-years who had just earned a well-deserved detention. He appeared utterly composed: hair no longer straggling but in a severe queue, the black coat open, lapels sharp-edged against a pristine white shirt. The last words Hermione had heard him say echoed in her mind: _In your bed, my lady_. Yet he had nothing about him of a man fresh from a lover's arms. In the greenish light cast by the walls, his face looked deadly pale, the lines cut deep around his mouth as if he were suppressing pain.

Ron too was staring at the former potions master as if he couldn't believe what he saw. "You . . . died," he managed. "We saw you _die_. In the Shrieking Shack." He took a step closer to Snape, his eyes narrowing, and Hermione saw with a slight shock that her ex was almost as tall as his old nemesis. "What the fuck is going on?" He gestured around him. "And what is this place?"

Snape flicked a glance at Hermione. "I don't recall you mentioning a husband," he said coldly.

" _Ex_ -husband," she snapped, ignoring Ron's incredulous expression. Snape seemed to hesitate a beat, and at that moment the Hagrid-thing groaned, one meaty hand convulsing. As Hermione flinched back, Snape leaned close to the door and whispered something sibilant. He stepped back, and the door swung closed with a soft sucking sound.

With a shaky breath, Hermione looked around. No windows, no other doors: nothing but a corridor stretching out before them, so long its end-point faded into dimness.

"Our friend will wake shortly," said Snape, his voice low. "And when he does, that walnut-sized brain will hold only one thought: tearing us to pieces. Not even this door will hold him for long. We must go." He whirled, the edges of his coat spreading like crows' wings, and began to stride down the corridor. As he moved, the polished, featureless walls and smooth floor flickered with bands of dim green light.

"You're taking us to _her_ ," said Hermione, or perhaps she only thought it, for her legs were already moving, as if her body had decided that whatever lay ahead couldn't be worse than the horror behind. She looked over her shoulder and slowed in shock. Ron hadn't moved.

"Come on!" she cried.

"Why?" Ron's eyes blazed. "What makes you think you can trust him?"

From the room behind him came a growl. Ron flinched and moved a few steps away, still shouting at Snape. "Why should we trust you! It was you who abducted those kids, wasn't it?"

"We have to get away!" Hermione screamed.

Suddenly Snape was at her side, pointing her wand at her ex-husband. "We don't have time for this fuckery," he snarled. " _Mobilicorpus_!" and Ron was rising off his feet, limbs flailing, spitting curses as the spell towed him like a swimmer in a lifesaver.

"If you don't shut up, I'll Petrify you as well," Snape said grimly, and Hermione turned on him.

"How _dare_ you do this."

"Oh? Still care for your ex, do you?"

"You bastard!" Hermione lunged for her wand, but Snape broke into a fast stride, holding the wand up high like a torch. Hermione half-ran to keep up, looking quickly over her shoulder at Ron, his feet just inches off the ground and his face contorted with fury and humiliation. "I'm sorry," she said. _I'll think of something. Trust me_ , she wanted to say as well, but couldn't bring herself to form the words. They felt too much like a promise she couldn't keep.

Quite suddenly she realized that Snape's spells had worked normally— _using her wand_. Why? How?

But there wasn't time to think about that. All she could do was run, and as they ran, the walls around them lit their way with a moving ring of livid light, matching their pace as if something unseen were marking their passage. Then Snape pulled farther ahead, and Hermione pushed to keep up. She seemed to be regaining energy—her earlier spell of dizziness quite gone—even though she'd given the last mouthfuls of Snape's restorative potion to Ron.

Another thought, this one so horrible she almost stumbled. Perhaps she wasn't tired because, quantum by quantum, she had at last adapted to this terrible universe. Two days, Snape had said. Maybe she could never go home now. Maybe it was already too late for her.

But it wasn't too late for Ron.

From far behind came a booming crash, and a furious roar echoed down the corridor toward them. The Hagrid-thing was loose. The dull pounding of its great feet told Hermione he was moving fast—so fast it would be upon them in a minute or two. In the lurid light that paced them, she could see no exit, no refuge. Nothing but smooth walls.

They were trapped.

* * *

 **Notes:**

 _Veritas lux mea_ = Truth is my light; _Adproximo =_ come closer (obviously hoping for the opposite to happen!)

Many thanks to no-name, mak5258, and ZoeyOlivia for your reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying the "strange attractors" and Hermione/Severus/Ron trapped together in the same hellish universe!

Chapter 16, "The spiral staircase," is coming on September 6. Just so you know, there are 23 chapters and an epilogue, so postings will be completed by the end of this month.


	17. Chapter 16--The spiral staircase

**Chapter Sixteen: "The spiral staircase"**

Another roar thundered down the dim and endless corridor. Hermione threw a quick look over her shoulder to see a ring of eerie green light rapidly flashing toward them, the Hagrid-thing a dark bulk in its centre. It was coming fast upon them. Ron, tethered like a balloon by Snape's Mobilicorpus charm, had twisted his body around to see behind. "Perfect," he said, then much louder, "What's your plan now, Snape—or whoever you are?" His voice sounded tense, tight with anger, but not panicked.

To Hermione's utter shock, Snape grabbed her arm and pulled her to a floundering stop.

"What are you doing?" she gasped. "We have to run!"

"The way out is here." Though slightly breathless, he sounded calm.

Hermione looked around wildly, but saw only smooth, blank walls. "Here? Where?"

Unsheathing Hermione's wand, Snape aimed its tip down at the floor. It flashed through her mind that the wand would attract the woman in green. But perhaps Snape was too desperate to care . . . or more likely, the wand didn't matter now. The damage was already done.

"What the fuck!" hissed Ron, still writhing behind them. Snape threw him a poisonous look, then turned back to the wand, whispering a sibilant phrase Hermione couldn't quite hear. It seemed like the spell he'd used to seal the door far behind them. The syllables reminded her most unpleasantly of Parseltongue. Then he swiftly drew a large circle a few inches above the smooth floor, the wand-tip leaving a fiery line in its wake.

The pounding of giant steps behind them grew louder. Again Hermione looked back (she couldn't help herself) to see the ring of light flickering toward them with hideous speed. Suddenly Snape was pushing her toward a hole in the floor that hadn't existed a second ago. The polished rim looked barely wide enough for an adult; below it, narrow stairs spiralled down to darkness.

" _Finite Incantatem_." There was a thud, and Hermione whirled to see Ron sprawled on the floor. Snape yanked him up and practically threw him toward her. Together they half-fell through the hole and stumbled down the first few shallow stairs as the figure of Snape filled the opening behind, his black coat swallowing all remaining light.

Hermione looked up to see the Hagrid-thing leaping toward them, teeth bared, thick fingers reaching, flexing . . .

Snape uttered another soft, hissing phrase and the opening vanished, leaving them in darkness. She could see nothing, hear nothing but breathing and the thudding of her heart. Then came a great pounding above their heads. The thing was trying to get in. She flinched.

"All right?" Ron whispered.

She took a shaky breath. "Yeah. You?"

A grim laugh. "Bruised. A bit air-sick."

A soft silvery light flared from the wand-tip, playing over polished steps and walls that were utterly black. Outlined by the wavering glow, Snape came down the steps toward them. There was barely enough room for one adult; turning sideways, he slid past a narrow-eyed Ron without looking at him. Hermione flattened herself against the smooth wall to avoid touching him, but his coat seemed to wind itself around her legs. Snape descended several more steps, but neither Hermione nor Ron made a move to follow.

He stopped and looked up. In the indistinct glow his face seemed dead white, his eyes lifeless, like those of a drowned man at the bottom of a pond. She shivered.

"If you think you'll be safe here in the dark," he said in a low voice, "if you think you can just stay here, think again. She'll find you." His eyes searched Hermione's. "Do you remember what I said to you in the grove—about fighting her? About closing the gateway?"

"About not using my wand?" she flung back. "Why should I believe you? You're her lover."

Snape's bleak gaze never flickered. "I'm her prisoner."

"Will you both _stop_?" Ron's voice was acid. As Hermione and Snape swung around to him, he thrust his face close to the older man's. "I don't know what game you're playing, but either get us the fuck out of here, or take us to that green-cloaked bitch and get it over with."

As Ron and Snape glared at each other, the dull pounding above them stopped. For a moment there was dead silence. Then the pounding began again, louder this time. Hermione unconsciously took a step down toward Snape. Even in her fear and confusion, something within her relished the experience of standing level with him—so she could look him in the eye, show him he could not intimidate her. Not anymore.

Snape shot a venomous glance at Ron, then looked at Hermione again. "I want the gate-maker dead," he said softly, and at those words he no longer seemed like a dead man walking. A thin flush had risen in his face, and the eyes shone blackly with an emotion she couldn't name. "I want her gateway destroyed. I don't much care if I die in the process. But I can't do it alone. Granger—" The words blazed from him like fire—"I need your help."

To her astonishment, he lowered her glowing wand and held it out to her. "I return this," he said softly, "to she who rightly wields it."

Hermione recognized the words: a ceremonial sign of truce between rival wizards, long bereft of any real meaning. But in this dark place the ritual words filled the air with a power so vibrant it made her tremble. Slowly, she reached for her wand. As she touched it, she heard the silent music of its heart and knew that it was hers: true, uncorrupted, unharmed. Then Snape whispered words she had never heard in any ritual, "To she who owns its heart," and her body echoed her mind's acceptance with a stab of desire for him so sharp her hand shook. She almost dropped her wand, but Snape steadied her wrist. She held his gaze, and as he read in her eyes what she could not speak, his own eyes darkened with a look she had seen first in the hollow tree, then in the grove of life forces.

"Hey," said Ron, his voice harsh.

Snape turned away sharply. Her hand trembling a bit, Hermione raised her wand to illuminate the spiral stairs that twisted away below.

Ron frowned at her. "I'd keep that aimed at _him_ if I were you. How d'you know he doesn't have his own?"

"If I did," said Snape, each word like cut glass, "You'd be dead." He began to move down the stairs. "Come. We must move quickly."

* * *

The corridor stretched silently into the dark. Only in one place did the walls and ceiling glow with a narrow ring of dull, greenish light, flickering as if following the movements of the great lumpy figure that stumped around in a furious circle. Its tiny reddish eyes were fixed on the floor, on one unyielding spot. From time to time it stooped and pounded massive fists on the stone, growls bubbling from between bared, massive teeth.

A few paces away another light gathered strength, a silver-green glow that expanded in a few heartbeats from a pin-prick to the size of a door. A cold gust of wind skirled down the corridor, whipping the Hagrid-thing's hair into its face. Startled, it straightened and turned as the gate-maker stepped through the passage she had conjured. For a long frozen moment they stared at each other: the slender woman in her rich emerald cloak, nightshade hair tumbling past her shoulders; and the half-giant, its shaggy head lowered, swaying a little, breath snorting like a maddened bull about to charge.

Not a muscle moved on the woman's impassive, perfect face. Inch by inch, she raised her right hand, fingers extended toward the half-giant.

"My brave Hagrid." She smiled, and her fingers beckoned. The half-giant fell to its knees and crawled toward the gate-maker, teeth bared in a gross parody of a smile. When it reached the woman it bowed its head. With great tenderness, she caressed the grease-clotted hair.

"You drove them here," she whispered. "You made them think you would tear them into tasty little pieces." The creature raised its head and closed its eyes as her hand crept slowly down the side of its bristly face. "But then . . . you almost did." The tender voice took on a hard edge. "You wanted to catch them. Didn't you?"

The half-giant moved uneasily.

"You wanted to disobey me."

She yanked the Hagrid-thing's beard, pulling its head upward. With a grunt of pain it tried to rear back, its massive strength no match against the grip of steel-slender fingers. She bent her head to stare down into the Hagrid-thing's bewildered red eyes. "You wanted to hurt them," she said, soft and deadly. "To eat them. Even though I forbade it."

The half-giant tried to shake its head. "Nuuh. Nuuh."

The gate-maker whispered a soft, sibilant string of words. Green fire sparked down her outstretched arm and leapt to the Hagrid-thing, setting its hair aflame. It staggered to its feet, shaking its head and howling in agony. She watched, a smile playing on her lips. At last she lowered her arm, and the green fire vanished. The Hagrid-thing stopped howling and simply stood there, eyes staring, chest heaving. One hand reached up to touch its head as if it couldn't believe no skin was burnt, no hair singed. Then it fell to its knees, buried its face in both enormous hands, and began to sob.

The gate-maker looked down at the creature. "Remember this, my brave Hagrid," she said, her voice as low and pleasant as if she were entertaining guests. "If you even _think_ of disobeying me again, I will know. And the punishment will be much worse. Do you understand?"

The Hagrid-thing nodded, tears trickling between enormous fingers. She took a step closer, reached out and again caressed the shaggy head. The Hagrid-thing jumped as if stung by a wasp, and she smiled, lips curving like a scimitar.

"This time I forgive you," she said softly as her fingers stroked the creature's hair. "Severus had to make a quick choice because of you—and it was the right choice. He passed my little test. And even more delicious . . . the shadows tell me the little witch has her wand back. How can she not trust Severus now?" Her smile sharpened. "He, at least, understands the importance of meeting my demands. And so must you."

Her hand balled again into a fist. As black hair tufted between white knuckles, the half-giant gave a bubbling groan, and its tears flowed faster.

* * *

Step after step they descended the spiral stairs: Snape first, Hermione next with her wand aloft and blazing, then Ron. The pounding above grew dull and faint, then at last faded into a silence broken only by their footfalls. The shadows they cast loomed and shrank with the wand's silvery light. After a while, Hermione uneasily noticed how some shadows seemed to move on their own. Then something cold touched her boot, and she looked down to see a black thing oozing across it, for all the world like a giant slug. With a muffled shriek, she kicked it away.

Snape looked around. "Quiet!" he said, his voice a hissing whisper, and quickened his pace, Hermione and Ron following hard behind. She tried to ignore the cold, living shadows slithering around her feet. Once or twice she felt something like sharp, tiny teeth gnawing at the sturdy leather of her shoes. She swallowed back nausea; the hissing of Ron's breath behind told her he was just as revolted. He liked slimy things even less than she.

As they descended, the wand's upheld light at times dimming as the hungry shadows paced them, Hermione noticed something strange about the spiral stairs. A heavy sense of oppression, of depth, told her they were descending, yet she felt herself pushing against the steps as though moving upward. Something had twisted around, as if one of Hogwarts' moving staircases had gone insane. She swallowed, trying not to dwell on the faintly nauseating effect. She glanced back at Ron and saw that whatever was happening, the effect on him seemed even worse. His face was strained and deadly white, sheened with a thin layer of sweat. He looked as if he were trying very hard not to be sick.

"Ron?"

"I'm all right," he said between clenched teeth. "Keep going."

Snape abruptly halted, and Hermione put a hand on his shoulder to stop herself from crashing into him. Almost immediately she drew away and looked back at Ron. He was gripping the handrail, his eyes closed.

"Light, please," said Snape quietly, and Hermione pointed her wand at the wall. He peered at the black surface closely and passed his right hand over it, murmuring words in the same sibilant tongue he had used before. A line of emerald green appeared, then two, running through the stone like cold fire to form a door-sized rectangle. The stone slid away to reveal a room blazing with a white light so intense that Hermione winced.

Snape shoved her into the light, then she heard Ron's stumbling steps behind as Snape pulled him in after. She looked back: through the dim doorway, the shadows seemed to be coalescing into a lumpen, man-like shape—a shape that took one, then two shambling steps toward them. As she raised her still glowing wand, Snape hissed a single venomous word and the door snapped shut, catching the tip of something black and oily looking. It lashed furiously, then broke off and fell writhing to the white floor. Hermione drew breath for a blasting spell, but the black tip dissolved into a viscous smoke. It lingered, coiling, for a moment before vanishing into the wall as fast as if something had yanked it through.

Shaking, Hermione lowered her wand, the tip still pulsing as if ready for battle. Then Ron swayed, putting a hand against the wall as if to brace himself. Hermione started toward him.

"You may want to stand clear," Snape murmured, and a second later Ron was violently sick all over the white, polished floor. With a grimace Hermione turned around, clenching her jaw. The occasional times Ron had suffered from a few too many pints, she'd let him deal with the aftermath. Nursemaiding was not one of her talents.

Keeping her wand out, though she had no feeling of imminent danger, Hermione peered at the spacious, rectangular room they had entered. The entire ceiling was a panel of brilliance, the white light reflecting almost painfully off the floor and the bare, polished stone wall to her right. Against the left wall stood ceiling-high shelves filled with a comprehensive array of pouches, flasks, boxes, and gleaming jars. In some of these, the liquid moved queasily as if something were still alive. _Ugh._ Hermione quickly shifted her gaze to the room's centre, where three tables stood end by end—each long enough to seat a dinner party of twelve. The nearest table was stocked with traditional potions-making tools, all neatly arranged, though scorch marks, dents, and scratches testified to hard use. But the two farther tables looked as if they'd been Apparated straight out of a Muggle laboratory. They gleamed with retorts and beakers, pipettes and petri dishes, Bunsen burners, racks of test tubes, and—Hermione narrowed her eyes some more—sleek, shiny pieces of equipment so unfamiliar she couldn't even guess their names, let alone their functions. Amidst the shininess, one odd thing stood out: the Slytherin green mortar and pestle Snape had kept on his desk long ago.

Snape's workroom? It had to be. Yet the equipment looked far more sophisticated than anything she had yet seen in the Wizarding World, even in the Department of Mysteries.

Behind her, the sounds of retching had stopped. "Quite finished?" said Snape. A pause, then " _Scourgify_." Another pause. Snape gave a frustrated hiss, then—" _Squaleo_ _!_ " At that Hermione turned around, curious whether the oppositional charm had worked, to see Ron huddling miserably over a now spotless floor.

Snape shot her a perfectly neutral look. "Not exactly the attitude of a loving wife."

"What would you know?" she snapped. "And it's _ex_ -wife. As I think I've mentioned." Bracing herself, she went over to Ron and put a hand on his shoulder. "You'll be OK," she said. "He'll give you something. It'll help, honestly."

"No. Don't trust him," Ron mumbled and leaned his forehead against the cool wall.

"What about you, Granger?" Snape said, his voice low. "How do you feel?"

Hermione turned, surprised, to see him staring at her intently.

"Fine."

"Are you certain?" His eyes held hers, demanding truth.

"Of course," she snapped. "I feel better than I've felt since . . ."

Realization struck her like a blow to the face. "Oh," she said. "Oh, God."

Snape jerked his chin at Ron. "You gave the last of my restorative to _him_. You've had none for hours—and yet you _feel fine_."

"I've adapted to this universe," she whispered. "I can't go back home." A cold fist seemed to squeeze the air from her lungs. As she closed her eyes, struggling to control her breathing, her panic, firm hands gripped her shoulders.

"Granger. Listen to me. You haven't adapted yet, not completely. Do you understand?"

She forced herself to look at Snape. "How do you know?" she whispered. Then it seemed to her something bright flickered in the bleak depths of his eyes: as if the long-imprisoned Severus were stirring again, trying to tell her he was still alive within the shell of a dead potions master. Legilimancy? False hope? Or the true vision of her heart? Either way, she accepted the reprieve he was offering. Her breathing slowed and her mind began to clear.

"I know the signs well," he said softly, "and I tell you the process is not complete. You'll know when it happens. It's unmistakeable." His face tightened as if he were in pain. "You have perhaps an hour. After that, your home universe will be poison to you." He glanced at Ron. "As this universe is poison to him."

"He needs your potion!" Frantically, she began to scan the orderly chaos of the potions table.

"There is none. You gave him the last of it."

"Then make more!"

Snape shook his head bleakly. "Not possible. I made it in the cave to keep it from her. Now nothing is left. She's destroyed it. That was the night . . . " he broke off and turned from her, his fists clenched. "This is her place," he said at last, low and rough. "She concocted it with my help, which I was forced to give. Nothing wholesome can be made here."

"But—there must be _something_ you can do." Her throat felt raw with the effort of staying calm, of not screaming at him to help Ron, to not just let him die. She didn't, couldn't, let herself think about her own fate in this bleak and alien place.

Snape went very still. Then he turned toward the shelves, staring at them as if in a daze. "Perhaps," he whispered. He reached out to touch one jar, then another. "Perhaps." He began running his hands along the shelves with slow deliberation, his long fingers brushing against their contents: dried plants, wood, leather, dark glass. As the shadow of his hand passed over the jars, things lashed against their sides: a tentacle, a spidery limb . . . and horribly, a tiny human hand with claw-like nails. At last Snape paused at a bundle of what looked like distorted mandrakes. "Here. I think," he breathed. Groping behind the mandrakes (their feeble, high-pitched shrieks made Hermione wince), Snape pulled out a dull black flask and unstoppered it. He sniffed briefly, nodded, then turned to face Hermione.

"Months ago I hid this." His lips quirked. "In one or two matters, I'm still able to deceive her." Without hesitation, he raised the flask to his lips and swallowed. He closed his eyes a moment. When he opened them again, they blazed with a strange elation Hermione could never have imagined.

"This," Snape said quietly, "holds the water we drank together in the forest. The very last of it." As his eyes held hers, despite all her fears she felt a skein of hope threading through despair . . . and a warm line of yearning. She took a step toward him.

"It is not a restorative," he added, "but it has power of a kind. Most of all, it will buy us time."

"Time for what?" Even as Hermione spoke, she dreaded the answer.

"Time," Snape said quietly, "for me to tell you everything."

He held the flask out to her.

* * *

 **Note:**

 _Squaleo_ \- be filthy

Thank you for reading and reviewing! Chapter 17, "The Gate-maker's tale," will be posted on Sept. 10.


	18. Chapter 17--The Gate-maker's tale

**Chapter Seventeen: "The Gate-Maker's tale"**

It was unbelievably frustrating. Not to mention galling. After watching Harry and the Aurors take off, brooms massing against the pre-dawn sky like a murder of crows, Ginny had been marched by old Madam Pinchy-face through the grounds into Hogwarts, into the Great Hall, and straight to the Headmistress. As if she were some naughty first-year rather than a heroine of the Wizarding World and a master defense strategist (all right, former, but she'd been practising). _Not_ to mention a mother of two small boys. They threaded their way through gaggles of sleepy students being chivvied into place by their House prefects for this extraordinarily early breakfast. Near the head table Hagrid stood, his massive arms folded, his eyes on McGonagall who sat there alone, her other remaining faculty scattered throughout the Hall. On seeing Ginny the half-giant looked startled, and even McGonagall raised her eyebrows. Madam Pince exchanged a few terse words with the headmistress, then left, giving Ginny a last sour glance.

The Headmistress looked at Ginny for a long, considering moment over the top of her spectacles. Ginny stared straight back, hoping against hope McGonagall would be more reasonable than the Aurors, or her great git of a husband, about letting her join the search for her brother.

"I understand why you've come, Mrs Potter," McGonagall said at last. "Though I sincerely wish you hadn't." As Ginny opened her mouth indignantly, she raised one stern hand to forestall her. "I won't ask how you got in, though I would dearly like to discuss that with you later. But you can't go home. I won't risk another breach."

"I have every right to be here," said Ginny tightly. "It's _my_ brother who's missing. Please—let me do _something._ I've kept up my skills."

The headmistress's gaze had seemed to soften a little. "I'll assign you to Hagrid's patrol."

"Thank you," said Ginny fervently.

A moment later the half-giant—with a little bob of his head—was asking her with painful politeness if she would mind keeping an eye on the hall's double entrance doors.

Ginny frowned. "I can do more than that."

"I know," said Hagrid quickly. "But tha's all I need yeh ter do for now. An' believe me, I appreciate it," he added.

The stream of entering students thinned. As they found seats, McGonagall stood up at the head table, and Ginny found herself listening to a tale about a massive infestation of Bundimun fungus rapidly working its way downward from the towers. Not to worry; the entire school was being Scourigified, but the students would have to spend the day in the Great Hall. The rest of the school was off-limits. At that, a low buzz of chatter began to rise. However, the headmistress announced with a steely look, in lieu of classes, homework would be assigned and closely supervised. The students groaned, but when McGonagall added that between regular meals, snacks would be served all day, some of the groans broke into muffled cheers. As if on cue, breakfast appeared on the tables: steaming bowls of oatmeal dusted with brown sugar, platters of scrambled eggs with sausage and thin-sliced fried tomato, mounds of toast, pots of jam. Ginny found her mouth watering. Only her mother still concocted massive English meals like this; Ginny never had time these days. She enjoyed every mouthful.

After the dishes finally vanished, Ginny discovered her real duty: escorting gaggles of female students between the bathroom and the Great Hall. Now she understood Hagrid's gratitude; bathroom escort had been one of his duties. Until now. She ground her teeth. Nursemaid patrol. What bollocks. For this she had practiced her spells, kept her edge, even renewed the extension charms on the pockets of her old field jacket?

At last the students settled, and as a quiet buzz of studying descended over the Hall, Hagrid assigned Ginny to stand near the closed doors, making sure no one left or tried to enter. Ginny shifted from foot to foot, feeling idiotic and grossly under-utilized, while McGonagall, Pince, Trelawney, and a few other superannuated faculty who had stayed at Hogwarts ghosted through the Great Hall, occasionally stopping to have a quick word with a student. Hagrid hulked near the doors, notably failing to look inconspicuous. More than a few children cast him curious looks.

Then Ginny caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Tensing, she turned to see two shabby looking figures slipping through a narrow side-door into the Hall. One wore a wide-brimmed hat, the other had a hood pulled half over its face. Moving unhurriedly, they converged on Hagrid. Ginny's eyes narrowed. If those two were trying to pass as groundskeepers, Auror training had clearly taken a turn for the worse since her day. Besides, something about the set of their shoulders told her the conversation wasn't about the rose bushes.

Ginny eased her wand from its sleeve holster. Holding it low so no one could see, she aimed it at the Hagrid and the fake groundskeepers. " _Audite_ ," she murmured (a charm that always reminded her, with a pang, of Fred and George's extendable ears), and their words came to her as clearly as if she were standing beside them instead of fifteen feet away.

"—won't stop crying," one Auror was saying, the one wearing the broad-brimmed hat. To Ginny she sounded very young. "She keeps banging on about that office in the old potions classroom."

Ginny saw how Hagrid's eyes narrowed.

"What's she sayin' about it?" said the half-giant.

"That something's behind the door," said the other Auror. He wore a hood, but Ginny caught a glimpse of a sour, middle-aged face. "She said it's coming. It's going to get her."

"Turns out she had a bit of a scare a few nights ago," said the young Auror, "looking for her hat or something."

"Hysterical, if you ask me," muttered the middle-aged Auror.

Hagrid frowned at him. "No patrol's been assigned teh tha' room, righ'?"

"No," said the male Auror, his tone a bit defensive. "But the dungeon patrol checks it regularly—as per Sekhmet's orders. Besides, she locked that office door herself. Nothing can get through that spell."

Hagrid stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I believe Harry helped her wi' tha'. Still. I want you both teh go down there an' station yerselves outside tha' door. Jus' teh make sure."

The middle-aged Auror glared up at Hagrid. "I think Sekhmet would see that as a waste of Auror resources. Sir."

"Till Sekhmet's back," said Hagrid quietly, "yer under _my_ supervision. Tha's Professor McGonagall's orders." He raised a bushy brow. "Potions office. Unless yeh'd prefer bathroom duty."

A sour pause. "Right, sir. Potions office," said the young Auror, but her patrol-mate stood there, arms folded, looking stubborn. She touched his arm. "Da—" She abruptly stopped and shook her head slightly. "Stan. You coming?" she said.

The older Auror unfolded his arms. "Sir," he said tonelessly to Hagrid, then turned to follow the young woman.

Quicker than thought, Ginny shoved her wand back up her sleeve. Plunging her hand into a pocket of her field jacket, she pulled out a flat package of silvery fabric about the size of her hand. In a breath she shook the fabric out. She know she shouldn't be using it; Harry had retired it, but, well, desperate times . . . Like woven water, the invisibility cloak settled over her head and around her shoulders. Then she moved: past the great doors and around Hagrid to squeeze through the narrow side-door just as it was closing. The two Aurors were just ahead, so close they might hear her ( _Remember: it's an invisibility cloak, not a soundproof shield_ , Harry had insisted). Ginny paused until they were about ten feet away. Then she followed, silent as a shadow, as the Aurors descended the stone stairs to the dungeons.

Bloody _right_ she still had some skills. It was about time to use them.

* * *

"Drink this," said Hermione. She crouched beside Ron, holding out the flask of water Snape had found. The last of it. The water that would buy them time. "It'll help."

Ron raised his head weakly. "How d'you know it's not poison?"

Hermione jerked her chin at Snape. " _He_ drank some. And now I will. Look at me, Ron." As his eyes met hers, she took two swallows. Almost instantly, it seemed if she'd slaked a ravaging thirst; fresh, cool energy infused her very being, a sensation so pure and poignant she wanted to laugh out loud. But instead she shoved the flask into her ex-husband's hands.

"Now you," she said. "Hurry."

At last Ron raised the flask to his mouth. She rose and turned toward the potions master, opening her mouth to say something ( _what now? what is it I need to know?_ ), and Snape caught her hands in a grip so hard she gave a small yelp of astonishment. "Look at me," he whispered, and she did, and in the next heartbeat—without moving an inch—she and he were simply . . . elsewhere. It was almost (yet not at all) as if they stood in the eye of a space-time storm, a place of uncanny peace in which light and shadow, stars and galaxies, and even time itself slowed to a standstill. Oddly, she felt no power of the kind she and Severus had raised against Eznerif and his kin: only an impression of silvery light and the force of his dark eyes on hers.

"The water we drank has many powers, and this is but one." Severus's words wrapped themselves around her: words she not only heard but _felt_ , like dark silk sliding over bare skin. "When we return to the gateway, only seconds will have passed." As his fingers intertwined with hers, she felt the thrumming of a strange and subtle power, holding them with gentle force in a place where time's arrow had simply stopped moving. "I have so much to tell you." His eyes held hers, the gaze of a prisoner led out of the cell and seeing, for the first time in years, the morning sun. Then his gaze clouded; a skein of darkness threaded through their joy. "I wish I could have told you before."

She understood. For the first time, perhaps the only time, she would hear all the truths she yearned to know about Severus Snape . . . and all the truths she didn't want to know, yet desperately needed to. Held by his eyes, by the warmth and power of his hands, in absolute trust Hermione opened herself to him.

When Severus began to speak, she sensed far more than words. She felt what he felt, saw what he saw: images and feelings unfolding before her, soaring like brilliant birds against a twilit sky. One image drew nearer, a coalescence of green and silver, and at last solidified into the woman in green, the gate-maker. She seemed to stare at them, her flawless face like a mask of stone. Hermione tried not to recoil, then felt Severus steadying her.

 _Vinata_ , said Severus. _Of all her countless names, that is the one she shared with me. Vinata and her sister Kadru were once Naga, the most ancient of peoples, renowned throughout the many worlds for their wisdom and their healing powers. Long before our universe was born, they revered and nurtured all life. Wherever they could, they seeded new worlds, even new galaxies, with life. For all intents and purposes, they were gods._

"The Naga," she whispered. "Do you mean . . .?"

 _Nagini?_ Sadness edged his voice. _The 'snake people,' as we would call them? Yes. But back then, they were glorious beyond words: Kadru and Vinata most of all. Especially Vinata._

The stark image of the gate-maker shimmered and became a graceful curve of silver thicker than Hermione's waist. The silver being reared up, straightening to twice her height, and two great eyes of silvery-emerald regarded her with a scintillating intelligence. Then almost playfully the arc became an ouroboros, shining like a jewel forged in the heart of a sun. The almost blinding brilliance dimmed, and the ouroboros morphed into a woman cloaked in silvery-emerald. Lustrous black hair rippled past her shoulders and framed a strong-boned face that resembled the gate-maker's. But this face seemed lit by an inner glow Hermione had never seen, an almost unearthly sense of wonder and compassion that transcended beauty. The woman looked straight at Hermione, then she stretched out her arms—even that small movement a poem of grace—and smiled at her with the shining joy of a child discovering a new and beautiful thing.

 _Vinata. As she was—long before I ever knew her._

The image darkened, faded, disappeared. Hermione felt an unexpected stab of grief.

"What happened to her?" she whispered.

 _The Naga knew how to manipulate life energies. They used their enormous power to heal, to prolong life, even create new worlds. But Kadru and Vinata discovered that if manipulated properly, the life force of an entire_ world _could open a gateway to another universe, bringing fresh energy to their own aging realm._ The brilliance of the images began to dim, and the tone of Severus's voice seemed to darken. _It was Kadru_ _who thought they could reduce the risk to one world by linking many worlds in a network of energy, and Vinata who created the network. But for all their eons of wisdom, in the end hubris won. They thought their great work was ready. It wasn't. The result was catastrophic._ Hermione caught a fleeting, horrifying image of fragments of planets, burnt-out cinders of stars being pulled into a growing void: a widening gyre of uttermost black. _Worlds upon worlds blown apart. A chain of destruction on an unimaginable scale._

Then from the darkness, light exploded so violently Hermione's eyes clenched shut and she cried out. Strength flowed from Severus's hands, supporting her again.

"That blackness," she at last said, unsteadily, "was a singularity. And the light . . ."

 _The birth of a new universe?_ came Severus's thought. _Possibly. But without doubt the Naga's realm was in ruins, all but a handful of that noble race killed. The survivors offered no mercy to the sisters they had once so admired. Banding together, they tried to drive Kadru and Vinata into the very singularity they had accidentally created. But the sisters cannibalized the life forces of their pursuers. With that dying energy, they create a gateway and escaped into another universe._

The images swirled, faded, died. Hermione opened her eyes to see Severus looking down at her, his expression both tense and sad.

"Another universe," she said softly. "Ours."

Severus nodded. "They arrived at the time of the great reptiles." Even without the images, his voice held her enthralled. "For millions of years, they survived in snake form. When humans evolved, the sisters fed on that greater life energy. They also fed on magic—the brightest of energies. Regaining some of their old power and glamour, they seduced humans with their healing craft. Entire civilizations worshipped them as deities."

"The caduceus," said Hermione, thinking of the entwined snakes and the ancient healers' oath: _First, do no harm . . ._

"Yes. But the more humans turned from myth, the more they rejected magic and embraced other technologies, the weaker the sisters' life-forces became. At last the Wizarding World became a parallel realm but separate realm. Deprived of bright energy, the sisters found themselves in deadly competition for survival. Then Kadru tried to murder Vinata. She failed."

Hermione winced.

"I'm sparing you the blood-soaked details," said Severus. "But you must know this: Vinata decided that executing Kadru was too merciful. Instead, she banished her sister to the heart of a remote northern forest, far from any human settlement. With nothing but the energy of small, mean creatures to feed on, Kadru was meant to starve to death." Severus took a deep breath, his eyes holding hers. "Yet somehow, Kadru managed to survive. In time people settled nearby, and she began to harvest their energy." His fingers tightened almost painfully around hers. "At last she was able to build a small gateway . . . from the heart of _her_ forest to the heart of _ours_ —in the Wizarding World." His eyes blazed. "I think you know what happened then."

"Oh, God," Hermione whispered, as the pieces fell into place to form a ghastly whole. The disappearances recorded in the books and manuscripts she had pored over in Hogwarts' library (could it have been only three days ago?); the hints of a horrifying darkness at the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Missing Hunters. Housewives. Children . . . and the terrible, dead blankness of the few who had returned.

"She lured people to the oak tree," she forced herself to say. "She pulled them through to her prison . . . and fed on them."

Severus's eyes were bleak. "Once she'd again tasted the sweetness and power of life-forces from the Wizarding World, she could never get enough. At last, past all patience and prudence, she took that gateway into our realm." His voice lowered. "But once there, she didn't have enough energy to assume human form."

Hermione swayed, assaulted again by images. The Forbidden Forest, branches lashing against a twilit sky. The great gnarled oak at its heart, its enormous hollow trunk filled with blackness. The blackness convulsing to eject an enormous diamond-patterned snake. The snake hiding in the tree's hollow, trying desperately to absorb enough life-energy to assume human form . . . until found and overpowered by a wizard named Tom Riddle. Kadru, now called Nagini, fed just enough to keep her alive and trapped in snake form. Her venom milked to keep her captor alive until his hideous rebirth as Voldemort. Nagini, kept in attics and basements. Nagini, held in an enchanted, starry sphere.

And then—Hermione couldn't help it, couldn't hold back the memories, couldn't stop them. The night in the Shrieking Shack. Nagini, twisting and turning within that starry sphere as she engulfed Severus Snape and sank her fangs into his neck. The high cold voice of Voldemort: _I regret it._ Snape on the floor, blood and memories pouring from him. Hermione, glancing back at the dead potions master as one might glance at a dead spider. Hermione, letting the body lie alone, its sightless eyes staring at nothing.

The memories cut like scourges. Worse, she knew Severus too could feel every lash; her memories were now becoming his. What must that be like—he who had mercifully forgotten his own death? She wanted to say she was sorry, that she didn't know—no one knew—but tears choked her. She tried to yank her hands from his so she could turn and hide her face. But instead of letting her go, Severus tightened his hold.

"You're not the same person who left me in that place, any more than I'm the same person who died," he murmured. Then he paused, and she felt his fingers convulse as if he were steeling himself to continue the gate-maker's tale.

"Vinata felt Kadru's death. She forced herself through the gateway . . . and there she found my body, infused with her sister's venom. She wanted that venom, for it still held power. She had stored enough energy to bring my corpse back to her realm; even so she barely made it. Then she extracted the venom . . . and forced me back to life." Another memory shocked into Hermione: her dream of a man writhing in agony, a cloaked figure bathed in green light. Her breath hitched in her throat as Severus whispered, "I didn't want that life. Every moment was agony. But she decided she wanted to use me."

He took a shaking breath, and Hermione sensed the effort in his next words. "With the last of Kadru's power, Vinata was able to create a small gateway to the Wizarding World. And I became her _harvester_."

Hermione, her cheeks still wet, raised her head to meet his agonized gaze. "It wasn't your fault," she said. "I know that now."

"The life forces I harvested were infused with magic," Severus went on relentlessly, and the lines around his mouth deepened with a pain Hermione did not just sense but feel, as sharply as if it were her own. "With that bright, rich energy, Vinata built this stronghold and then tried to seed this realm with life as the Naga once did. But she couldn't create true life: only dark, twisted perversions like the things that attacked us." He shuddered. "Vinata's children: always in pain, always hungry. Like the Belua. Eznerif. The half-giant."

Hermione shuddered, longing to press her face against his chest again. Severus drew slightly away from her, his hands still holding hers tightly.

"Listen to me, Granger." His voice was low, edged with urgency. "Vinata's creatures are bred to drain life-energy and channel it to her. Once through the gateway, they will swarm the Forbidden Forest, then Hogwarts. From that infusion of magical energy, Vinata's powers would grow exponentially. The Wizarding World would stand no chance against her."

Hermione met Severus's bitter gaze without flinching. Strangely, she felt no shock, no terror. It was too late for that; far too much had happened. There was only one thing to say, one truth, and as if in a dream she heard herself utter it.

"We have to destroy the gateway. Even if that means I can't go home."

Without a word Severus drew her against him. Incredulous, she wrapped her arms tight around his back, relishing the comfort, the warmth, the tension of whipcord muscle.

"You _will_ go home," he said at last. She felt his breath stir her hair. "I promise you that."

 _And you're coming with me._ The words pounded through her heart and mind. But before she could say them, Severus tilted her chin up and ever so lightly touched her lips with his. In that moment words fled, and all she felt was her need for him, pure and sharp: to feel him around her and inside her, in this light-soaked liminal space where they stood alone and time meant everything and nothing. Without thought she laid her mouth on his. For a moment he held himself very still. Then with a soft sound that might have been pleasure or despair, he opened his mouth against hers. She melted against him, the warmth within her blazing into a pure, brilliant fire that instantly consumed hesitation, distrust, and any last remnants of shame.

Then with great gentleness, he pulled away. Hermione opened her eyes to look up at him, seeing her own need reflected in his black, brilliant eyes.

"I want this," she whispered. "I want you."

He shook his head. "I would give anything—whatever is left of my heart and soul," he said raggedly, "to love you. Here. Now."

"Then— _love_ me," she whispered. "And let me love you. Who knows if we'll ever . . . " But the words choked her like ash. She could feel the fire dying, doused with a strange grief that now seemed reflected in his eyes as well.

"The force suspending time for us is about to unbind." Severus freed his right hand from hers and with one finger traced a warm line down her cheek. She leant into his light touch, misery rising in her throat. "Vinata is coming. No matter what, she must believe I'm still . . . hers. Do you understand, Hermione?"

She nodded, but could no longer stop her tears. Severus gently caught one. Then he cupped her face, and it seemed as if the multiverse itself waited, allowing them this last moment.

At last Severus took a step back, one hand still clasping hers.

"Listen to me." His voice was low, taut. "When I send Weasley through the gateway, you must follow him. Then as soon as you're on the other side—" he paused, and with terrible certainty she knew what he was going to say "—you turn your wand on that gateway and destroy it. You have the power." As she drew in a sharp, protesting breath, he said roughly, " _Destroy it_. Don't wait. Not for a second."

"What about you?" she cried.

Severus looked at her, his eyes bleak. Then without warning he released her hand.

* * *

 **Note:**

Some of this chapter was inspired by Wikipedia's description of the Naga (see especially "Kadru").

FrancineHibiscus, thanks for keeping the faith! no-name, it's true this realm has its share of slime, but quantum magic isn't forgotten. Banglabou, your word "hellscape" is brilliant! And RhodaBush, more is certainly coming: Chapter 18, "Three windows," will be posted September 13.


	19. Chapter 18--Three windows

**Chapter Eighteen: "Three windows"**

In the midst of his spinning misery, Ron was blearily aware he had humiliated himself. It was bad enough to have been sick all over Severus Snape's spotless white laboratory, worse to see Hermione turning away, her face rigid with disgust . . . and worse still when the dead potions master cleaned up the mess with a wandless spell that made no sense, yet seemed to capture Hermione's fascinated attention. He had no strength to react, to say or do anything but slump against the hard, cold, well-scoured wall and try to focus on what Snape and his ex-wife were saying. It had to be his imagination, part of his nightmare, the way she looked at Snape when he'd found that flask and drunk from it. The way he slowly extended it to her, and how she reached for it, their fingers almost touching.

The next moment Ron saw Hermione crouching before him, her eyes urgent and her hair wild, telling him to drink. _How d'you know it's not poison?_ he'd managed to say, which might have been a bit stupid because Snape had drunk from it. Unless he'd slipped himself an antidote. Yes, he'd do that, wouldn't he, that clever bastard. _Look at me, Ron,_ Hermione said, and he watched in dull surprise as she drank from that flask. Then somehow the flask was in his hand, and he was tilting the end toward his mouth, feeling the first drops slide like silver down his throat. He had never tasted anything so delicious.

As Ron took another swallow, Snape's hands suddenly shot out and clasped Hermione's. Ron lowered the flask abruptly. "Whoa," he said softly, but nothing else happened. The two simply stood there, staring at each other, holding hands so tightly Ron could see their knuckles whitening.

"Hey," he said, louder. But Snape and Hermione didn't react, didn't move. He couldn't even tell if they were still breathing. It was as if they were frozen in time.

One more mouthful remained in the flask. Ron couldn't stop himself from taking it. As he finished, he felt a sort of warmth flooding into his body. He thought that if he tried to stand up now, he might not fall down. He would probably not be sick. Pushing against the wall for support he got to his feet, and the world around him stayed steady. He took a step, then two, toward Snape and Hermione . . . and stopped abruptly. Something strange surrounded the two motionless forms, a thrumming force that reminded him of Muggle electricity. He extended a cautious hand, and withdrew it quickly as energy skittered across his skin.

"Bloody hell."

Ron moved around into his ex-wife's field of vision and waved his hand. "Hermione." Nothing. He looked at her again, more carefully, and as he did her eyes grew brilliant, her face suffused with an expression Ron had never seen her wear. Awe. No, more than that: joy. Her hands moved, her fingers intertwining with Snape's.

"What the. . . ?" Ron shifted to look at the potions master, and the breath stopped in his throat to see Hermione's joy mirrored in Snape's pinched face—transforming the grim potions master, the greasy git of the dungeons into . . . into—

—a man in love.

Then they were in each other's arms. There was no transition, as if Ron had closed his eyes and missed it. He wished he had, for he had a brief, horrifying sense that they'd kissed.

"Oh, fuck no," he breathed. " _Not_ happening."

Again that strange jump in time, and they were apart. Ron saw Hermione's joy draining away, her eyes filling with tears. "Hermione," he said brokenly. "What's he doing to you?" He reached for her again, but that crawling force stopped him. Now Snape moved as if in slow motion, catching one of Hermione's tears on the end of his finger. That gesture— so utterly un-Snapelike, so tender—told Ron two truths he could no longer ignore.

Hermione would never come to harm at the hands of Severus Snape.

And she would never return to Ron.

Without warning Snape let go of Hermione's hand. Ron heard a strange, low boom, and as a skirl of cold air rushed past him, he understood that Hermione and the potions master had returned from wherever they had been. He stepped back, his eyes warily on the potions master, but Snape bowed his head, swaying a little as if he were deadly tired or struggling to collect himself. At the same time Hermione staggered, groping for the edge of the nearest table. Without thinking Ron moved toward her.

"Hermione?"

She took a deep, sobbing breath, trying to scrub tears from her face. Ron wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, but he could feel the weight of Snape's black gaze on his back.

"Weasley." Snape's voice sounded ragged. Startled, Ron turned, struck anew by the fact that he could stand eye-to-eye with his old nemesis. Snape's face looked white and drawn.

"How long were we standing here?"

"What?"

"She and I. How _long_ , dammit?"

"Erm." said Ron, taken aback. "A couple of minutes. I think."

"Did anything happen?" Snape's voice had taken on a rough, urgent edge.

"You stared at each other. You . . . " Ron stopped raggedly, then went on, "She started crying." With swift, sudden anger, he took a step toward Snape. "What did you do to her? Legilimency?"

Snape turned away from Ron, black coat swirling.

"Answer me!" Ron shouted. But without a word Snape strode toward the farther of the two long tables. It was laden with equipment, metal and steel and glass, resembling nothing Ron had ever encountered during his forced stints in Potions class. He watched, biting back his fury, as Snape paused in front of two clear glass globes, each the size of a human head and spaced about two feet apart. For some reason they reminded him chillingly of those spheres he'd seen only once (once was enough), buried in the Department of Mysteries.

So it made him deeply uneasy when Snape placed a hand on top of each globe and closed his eyes. After a moment, the globes began to pulse with a faint silver light.

Ron had no idea what Snape was doing, but he knew he had to get Hermione out of here. He whirled toward to his ex-wife, still leaning against the nearer table. She looked stricken: white-faced, mouth trembling, eyes brimming with tears. But even as Ron reached to touch her, to offer some kind of comfort, she pushed herself roughly away and strode toward Severus Snape.

She was pulling out her wand.

* * *

Stan and Alice, Ginny thought. Terrible code-names for the two Aurors she was invisibly following, like characters in some dreadful Muggle comedy. For past few minutes, "Stan" hadn't ceased grumbling to his young partner—so vocally Ginny wondered if he would have noticed or heard a troupe of Death-Eaters stalking him, let alone one ex-Auror. Now, as they picked their way in the dimness toward front of the classroom, Stan started banging on about Hagrid again.

"Stupid git of a giant. What does _he_ know? He's a bloody gamekeeper, not the guv."

"He's the Care of Magical Creatures professor," said Alice. "Actually."

"Alice. You're new, and I know you're looking for a bit of action, but—oh, bugger!" They stopped abruptly at a t-junction. In both directions the corridors faded into unrelieved dimness, lit only by an occasional dim sconce.

"Left, I reckon," said Stan. "If I remember the guv's map rightly."

Alice cleared her throat. As Stan frowned at her, she tilted her chin discreetly to the right.

"Or . . . perhaps to the right," said Stan and surged away without a glance at Alice, who raised a single eyebrow before following him. Their footsteps echoed softly, their raised wands casting pools of light ahead. Ginny ghosted behind them, keeping Harry's invisibility cloak tight around her. They had passed the kitchens a minute earlier, and in that blaze of warm light Ginny had caught a quick glimpse of busy house-elves. One, wearing a bright red knitted cap, had turned suddenly toward the door as they passed, its expression almost terrified. When Ginny met its gaze, the big eyes widened if the house-elf could see her. Unsettling. Then the kitchens were behind them, and only an occasional guttering torch guided their way to the old potions classroom.

At last they reached the heavy double doors. Ginny saw they were sealed with a standard padlocking spell: beyond the abilities of casual mischief-makers but apparently easy enough for the younger Auror to break. Stan pushed one heavy door open wide enough for them to pass through, Ginny barely squeezing in before he shut it again. Then, " _Lumos Maximus,_ " said Stan.

Their wand-tips blazed with a brilliance that sent shadows slithering across the deserted, dusty tables and the great oaken desk that faced them. Snape's desk. The darkness behind it seemed filled with menace. A shiver leapt down Ginny's spine, and she kept her eyes forward as she tip-toed past.

At the front of the classroom, the potions office with its thick door was drowned in darkness. As if in an excess of caution, the two Aurors stopped about five feet away. Ginny slipped invisibly past them. Only inches from the door, she felt the magic of a powerful locking spell thrumming from the battered wood.

Alice removed her ridiculous wide-brimmed hat and stuffed it into a pocket. "By the book?"

"By the book." Stan leveled his wand at the door. _"Alohomora_!" The wood fizzed and sparked like electricity, but the door held firm. He sighed and ran through a few more standard unlocking spells. Nothing.

"Bugger you," Stan told the door conversationally. "All right. Next level."

Alice looked alarmed. "Erm—couldn't that cause damage?"

Stan flourished his wand as if hurling something invisible at the door. " _Portaberto_!" Ginny flinched, half-expecting the door to explode. But though it shivered violently, the wood held firm.

"Maybe if we both try . . . " and Alice began describing a sequence so complicated that Ginny felt they might be here for another week. As the young Auror rattled on, as Stan's eyes began to glaze, Ginny whispered a revealing spell. For her eyes only, the complex whorls and patterns of the locking spell played themselves across the door's rough surface . . . then a moment later, vanished. But it was enough; she recognized Harry's magical signature. Clever git; he'd used the private sealing charm he'd invented (yes, with Hermione's help) back in the days of Dumbledore's Army. Despite her anger at Harry, Ginny felt a quick flash of pride. Definitely _not_ by the book, was her boy. At least back then.

Now . . . if she could only remember how to break that seal.

She threw a glance at Stan and Alice. They were facing the door again, raising their wands, clearly having agreed on some sort of plan. Ginny drew her wand, keeping it low and hidden, long-unused spells coalescing in her mind. _Res_ . . . _res_ something.

" _Alohomora Maximus!_ " cried Alice and Stan in unison, and at that moment—thank Merlin and his minions—Ginny remembered the unsealing spell. As light from the Aurors' wands blasted against the door, she whispered, " _Resigno_!" Her wand twisted in her hand as if alive, and the door shuddered and groaned. But this time she knew the magic was working; she could sense the intricate patterns of Harry's locking spell breaking like the strings of a hard-played guitar.

The metal bolt slid to one side.

"It worked," Alice whispered. She and Stan stared at each other, their expressions stunned.

Slowly, the door began to creak open.

* * *

Energy sizzled and crackled around the white, taut hands splayed over the two glass globes. Hermione saw Severus's head snap back, teeth bared, as thin lines of force radiated down his arms. In horror, she understood those forces weren't coming from the globes, but from himself.

He was using his own life energy to open the gateway.

With a scream, she thrust her wand at the nearest globe as if to stab it. The wand convulsed in her hand; energy leapt up the shaft and coruscated around her hand. Then pain, sharp and terrible, as if every particle in her body were being picked apart by a groping darkness. With a huge effort of will, she focused all her energy on channelling the pain into the globe. Her wand trembled, its tip like a burning brand, and she felt the pain diminishing. Energy flowed _into_ her, a power so sweet and strong she could have drunk it. Power from the Wizarding World, her wand its conduit.

So this was what it felt like to open a gateway from a dark universe to a bright one, pulsing with energy and life. Hermione stared into the globe, fascinated despite herself, as lines of energy—silver, scarlet, indigo, gold—wove around her wand-tip in beautiful, endless fractals. In that moment, she almost understood Vinata's terrible hunger.

Beside her, Severus took a great whooping breath as if emerging from the depths of a black ocean. "Get away," he gasped. "Get your wand _away_!"

"But—"

" _Now_!" he shouted, the urgency in his voice so sharp that Hermione pulled her wand away without thinking. For a moment Severus's hands convulsed, knuckles whitening, then the brilliant fractals in both globes seemed to calm, their patterns slowing to a stately dance.

"Hermione!" Ron had come up behind her. "Look! Look at the wall!" At his words a strange sensation brushed her skin, like a little shivering wind, compelling her to turn and face the wall opposite the over-stuffed shelves. On the blank white stone three windows had appeared: each taller than Ron and wide as a doorway, their frames carved with intricate patterns. But the sills began only a foot above the floor. Hermione took a step or two toward the rightmost window, then stopped abruptly. It had no glass. None of them had glass, and she could see nothing beyond each low sill but a deep, unguessable darkness.

A brilliant green flash tore through the darkness of the middle window. When the glare faded, trees had appeared on the other side, dark against a slowly lightening horizon.

"Bloody hell," said Ron, very quietly. "The oak grove. That's where we were searching."

In the leftmost window, blackness flared with a sound like cloth ripping apart. A dim, barren clearing appeared, hemmed around with black-trunked trees. Shivering, Hermione recognized the place where she had gone to seek traces of Diana and Terry . . . and been taken. The heart of the Forbidden Forest.

The righthand window stayed dark, but through it came a sudden skirl of cold dank air, like the breath of a dungeon long unopened.

Three windows. Three gateways.

Severus groaned, and Hermione whirled back to face him. He stood with his back to the three windows, eyes shut, his rigid hands shot through with the light coruscating from the two globes.

"The middle window," said Ron tersely. "That's where Harry'll be looking for us." He reached for Hermione. "Come _on_!"

"No!" Severus's voice seemed stretched over jagged bones of pain. "The right. Hogwarts' dungeons. It's the only one I can keep stable. Go. _Now_!" His arms began to tremble; sweat sheened his face.

Hermione whirled toward Severus. "Not without you!" She started toward him.

Someone grabbed her arm. Ron began pulling her toward the middle window.

"Let go!" she shrieked, lashing out. Her boot connected with Ron's shin. With a yell he loosened his grip, and in one fluid motion she pulled away and levelled her wand at him. " _Impello_!"

As Hermione's spell hurtled toward Ron, he ducked. The spell glanced off his shoulder but its force was enough to push him, stumbling, toward the middle window. The wrong gateway—but before she could react, something struck her from behind: a stunning blow that made her head ring. The room swung crazily, the three windows tilted. She fell, and as her face hit the polished floor her wand flew from her hand and arced, end over end, toward the dark window that led to Hogwarts' dungeons. Ron stumbled over the middle sill as the oak grove behind him rippled, disappeared, reappeared . . . with the treetops suddenly, sickeningly far below. He grabbed at air, his arms pinwheeling as he tumbled over the sill with a wild cry, falling, falling. Hermione watched, helpless, horrified, unable to move, as Ron gave a last fading scream; watched as her wand hurtled toward Hogwarts' dungeons—

—to be caught by a slender hand, extending from an emerald-bright sleeve.

* * *

On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, just inside McGonagall's Interdiction boundary, the oak grove stood black against the lightening sky. Three figures waited in silence as behind them a grey, dreary dawn struggled through thickening clouds. Nothing stirred the trees; no hint of magic dark or otherwise; not even a breath of wind as Harry, Sekhmet, and Khonsu awaited the centaur Ronan, who would guide them to the heart of the grove where Ron had vanished. All was quiet—too quiet, Harry thought, as if the grove were waiting, biding its time.

They were only minutes from sunrise, when the Aurors would use liminal spells in an attempt to reveal signs or traces beyond the usual bounds of magic. How successful that would be, Harry wished he knew. His only comfort lay in knowing that Hermione had helped develop these spells. But if those spells failed, the Aurors were to Apparate to the heart of the Forest and join the main search radiating out from the great oak where Diana and Terry had been taken.

With barely a rustle Ronan appeared before them, as if he had taken shape out of morning mist. His grim expression lightened a bit as he recognized Harry, whom all the centaurs honoured, and he gave a hint of a bow. But his face darkened again when Harry introduced the two Aurors. "Be careful of the spells you unleash here," he said. "The trees dislike hostile magic."

Sekhmet stared up at the centaur, undaunted. "We intend no harm to the trees. We're simply searching."

The centaur's mouth set in a grim line. "Your meddling here yestereve roused darkness in their hearts."

"We know what we're doing. We'll leave your trees alone," said Khonsu, belligerence edging his tone.

Ronan turned to Harry, folding his arms across his broad chest. "Your companions would benefit from a short course in forest-lore. And manners."

"Our apologies. We mean no disrespect," said Harry, flashing a look at Sekhmet and Khonsu that said, clearly as words, _shut the fuck up_. After a moment, Ronan let out a huffing breath and turned toward the grove.

"Stay close," he said shortly. "You may invoke light. But use no other magic until I give you leave."

Khonsu opened his mouth indignantly, but Harry swiftly cut him off. "We understand," he said. " _Lumos_."

The growing dawn and the three wand-tips gave just enough light to pick out a path, but barely penetrated the inky darkness that pooled around the oaks' crooked trunks. Though the Aurors walked softly in their field boots, leaves and twigs crunched underfoot like small explosions while the centaur's hooves made no sound. Their breath smoked, and the chill air pressed heavily against them. At last the darkness seemed to thin, and they entered the clearing at the heart of the grove. As the silvery light of their wands threw uncanny shadows against the great black oak at its centre, it seemed to Harry that its roots were twisting like a nest of snakes.

Ronan halted and raised his arm to stop them.

"No farther."

"Shouldn't we shield ourselves?" said Khonsu, his eyes showing white in the gloom.

"Your defenses would be seen as a threat," said Ronan, his voice low. "Invoke your search-spells from here, the clearing's edge." He raised his head, red hair glowing as dawn's light crept through the trees toward them. "Quickly."

"Let's get this done," said Sekhmet grimly, and the three formed a rough circle. With both hands, the two Aurors raised their wands high. "Not yet," she said to Harry as he started to raise his. He subsided, biting back a retort. Of course he didn't know these liminal spells—how could he, stuck behind a desk since Ginny's first pregnancy? Sekhmet, who seemed to take almost Snape-like satisfaction from putting Harry in his place, had made it quite clear that his job was to amplify the field-Aurors' magic. Basically, stand there with his wand and not fuck things up.

Khonsu began to murmur, and Harry frowned. He had been expecting something complex, but this spell seemed ridiculously simple: _Magic. Mystery. Matrix. Mother. Multiverse_. Then Sekhmet chimed in, and the two Aurors began alternating the words as if passing an invisible baton between them. The words sped up, and Harry felt the very air thickening with power, growing with each rapid syllable. The Aurors' wand-hands shook with its force.

A shaft of rising sunlight cut through the trees, limning the wands with gold.

"Now, Potter," said Sekhmet, her breath ragged with effort.

Harry raised his wand. " _Amplifico_!" A net of golden light sparked among the three wands, swirling in brilliant patterns. Then Sekhmet cried out a liquid word, and with a heave the Aurors hurled the net of light from their wands. It whirled across the clearing toward the oak tree. As it settled around the black roots, a faint silvery green glow began to pulse from the hollow. A great shudder ran through the tree, and the roots writhed, some pulling partway out of the earth as the light waxed and waned like the beating of an irregular heart.

"Bloody hell," whispered Harry, and took a step forward. Sekhmet lifted an arm to bar him.

"Wait. Keep back." As she spoke, the web of light seemed to tighten around the trunk, and the irregular silver-green glow spread, extending like a funnel from the tree's hollow. A dark groaning reverberated through the clearing, and to Harry it seemed as if the tree seethed in rage.

Ronan whirled toward Sekhmet and Khonsu, his face tight. "If you're harming this tree, I can give you no protection!" Even as he spoke, a vicious wind tore through the clearing, and the sun suddenly dimmed as the branches of the great tree whipped back and forth. The net of light around the trunk darkened, the strands breaking apart.

"Shit!" hissed Khonsu as Sekhmet said grimly, "We're losing it!"

Harry shoved past Ronan and ran toward the tunnel of silvery light. "Ron! Hermione!" he shouted. "Are you there? Can you hear me?"

"For fuck's sake, Potter— _no_!" cried Sekhmet.

* * *

Sprawled on the floor, Hermione stared at her wand, at the green-sleeved arm and slender hand that grasped it. Then she felt something massive stoop low over her. She heard gurgling breath—the foul, meaty stench of it almost smothering her—and a force like a giant hand pinned her in place.

The Hagrid-thing lowered its face to stare into hers, baring its jagged teeth in a terrifying smile.

"No," said Vinata, the word like a lash. "She's not for you." With Hermione's wand, she gestured toward the dark gateway that led to Hogwarts' dungeons. "It's time," she said to the half-giant. "You must go through."

The Hagrid-thing straightened and took a few shuffling steps toward the gateway before stopping with a low, bubbling moan. The woman in green spoke again, her voice now soft as silk.

"Go, brave one. Kill whoever you find." Her voice harshened. " _Feast_ on them."

* * *

Stan and Alice had thrust their lit wands past the door jamb in an effort to penetrate the darkness. To Ginny, several feet behind, the air now seemed thick and oppressive, as if some force within were hungry for not only light, but breath.

Without warning a ball of light appeared in the middle of the blackness: a sickly greenish glow that sent shadows crawling across the dusty table, skittering up the disheveled shelves. Stan threw a startled look at Alice.

"Did you do that?"

"No! I thought _you_ did."

Suddenly the dim light blazed with the intensity of a small sun. The dead air seemed to implode around them, and from the shelves came the sound of glass jars shattering. Stan shouted something as a cold wind howled past the Aurors, smelling of something foul—something dead. Cringing, shielding her eyes against the emerald glare, Ginny saw what looked like a great black mound in the middle of the room, silhouetted against the blazing ball of light.

The mound moved, and from it came a low, liquid gurgling that dried Ginny's throat with terror.

Not a Death-Eater. Something much worse.

* * *

As Harry reached the oak tree, the funnel of light from the hollow abruptly vanished. A cold wind slapped his face, lashing the branches to a frenzy, and the sun's light dimmed and died. Flattening himself against the oak's gnarled trunk, he looked up to see a pitch-black cloud roiling above the oak grove. It flickered fitfully with dull, greenish light, and something about the way it moved, almost as if it were alive and aware, turned Harry ice cold. He sensed not only enormous power but a deadly force, an evil beyond his experience—beyond even Voldemort.

He had to do something, however futile. He raised his wand, but before he could form a spell, the cloud convulsed and spat out a black object—something that looked human. Tumbling end over end, limbs a-flail, it plummeted straight toward Harry with a high, desperate scream.

Harry stared in horror as Ron's body smashed into the topmost branches of the oak tree.

* * *

Into the potions classroom emerged something enormous and hideously man-like: great stumpy legs, bristling grey-black beard split by a wet, slavering mouth, one thick gnarled hand holding a club as thick as Ginny's waist. Tiny red eyes blazed at Stan and Alice, who after a few stunned moments began to back away, hurling spells that Ginny—still hidden by the cloak—unthinkingly echoed. Spell after spell: whiplashes, binding charms, repulsion spells, sharp-edged stabs and slashes of light.

Yet the thing threw its head back and gave a thick gurgling laugh. Then with horrendous swiftness, it closed in on Stan and Alice. As it raised its club, Ginny sensed something familiar about the way it looked and moved, something almost like . . .

. . . Hagrid. A nightmare version of the half-giant without a trace of Hagrid's intelligence or kindness. A thing of pure malice and ravening hunger.

Shock, horror, and a wild, angry grief rose through Ginny like fire. Still hidden under the cloak, she hurled a desperate " _Sectumsempra_!", the force of it sizzling around the invisible core of her. The vicious spell lashed at the Hagrid-thing, then faded, leaving not a single mark.

The lumpish head swivelled; the red eyes glared at her— _right at her_.

Somehow, it could see her.

The Hagrid-thing turned from the two Aurors and lurched toward Ginny.

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Only six more uploads till the end! Chapter 19, "The children," will be posted September 17.


	20. Chapter 19--The children

**Chapter Nineteen: "The children"**

Hermione sensed she was half-sitting, propped against something hard as stone, her head tilted toward a white-lit ceiling. She could breathe, even move a little, but not enough to matter; her body seemed trapped in something soft and sticky, like a spider's web. A binding spell, an alien one she'd never encountered, spawned in a foul universe. _Severus!_ Fear for him lashed at her, and she struggled to call his name but could make no sound, couldn't even turn her head.

Then she remembered Ron, the sound of his scream as he fell. The white ceiling blurred, and tears scalded her cheeks. Ron was dead; he had to be; no one could survive such a fall. And Severus? For all she knew, he was dead as well, and it was all her fault; she had fumbled her wand like a first-year, been stupid enough to let the Hagrid-thing sneak up on her . . .

Something emerald flicked across her tear-blurred vision: a cloak, a swirl of night-black hair, a perfect heart-shaped face. Blinking, Hermione found herself staring at her own wand, its tip a few inches from her head, grasped by slender fingers that seemed almost to caress the shaft. She forced her gaze upward to Vinata's eyes, night-dark yet brilliant with amusement. As their eyes met, the gate-maker's lips curved in an intimate smile, as if she and her prisoner were best friends about to share a delicious secret.

Hermione tried to speak. " _Where is Severus_?" It came out as a dry whisper.

"Your sweet new lover?" Vinata's eyes gleamed suddenly with a greenish light. "Right beside you." She flicked the wand, and the alien bonds loosened just enough for Hermione to turn her head. Severus stood a few feet away, facing the great stone table against which she was propped, his face half-hidden by straggling hair, his arms splayed apart. She drew breath to cry his name, then she saw how his wrists were bound to the table by needle-slim ropes of emerald light, how his palms were forced against the two glass globes that powered the three-windowed gateway.

Hermione screamed, "Let him go!"—except now she could make no sound except a whistling gasp. In helpless horror she saw Severus sway slightly, as if weary beyond hope, and she knew the globes were draining him of life energy, drop by drop. Then with a soft laugh Vinata took two slow steps toward him, her heavy emerald cloak rippling. With Hermione's wand she traced a line slowly, almost flirtatiously down the potions master's back. At that touch he flinched and threw a quick look over his shoulder, and Hermione saw the agony in his eyes, the sweat that sheened his face.

"Poor Severus." Vinata's low voice cut the still air like a blade. "He has almost nothing left to give. Look!"

Hermione felt her upper body being forced to turn until she faced the three-windowed wall. The right-hand portal, no longer dark, was filled with a green-glowing, fluctuating tunnel, its end infinitely far, then suddenly, sickeningly almost in Hermione's face. "This," said the gate-maker softly, "leads to Hogwarts' dungeons. Or it may not. The gateway is losing stability by the moment. This is all Severus can do." Her voice hardened. "Too bad it won't serve." She flicked the wand toward the left-hand and middle windows, which showed nothing but darkness.

A finger lifted Hermione's chin, forcing her to meet Vinata's amused eyes. "But I now have _you_."

Fighting back tears, Hermione glared at the gate-maker, trying to remember the glorious being that had once inhabited this form. But she could see nothing of beauty or wisdom in Vinata's flat, inhuman gaze. As if sensing her thoughts, the gate-maker chuckled, then turned away and gestured to the two dark windows. "You have very little time," she said softly, "before you are fully adapted to my realm. Before your own world will be poison to you. So look well, little witch. Look at your new home."

As Hermione gazed at the two dark windows, the blackness slowly lightened, resolving into a dull pewter sky lying heavily over a twilit landscape. Then with a shock she saw that the unprotected windows opened to nothing but thin air. The nearest solid ground, barely visible in the gloom, lay at least several storeys below. Shuddering, she remembered the sick sensation of twisting space on the spiral stairs leading to this room. Instead of descending to a dungeon, the insane laws of this universe—or maybe just this place—had cork-screwed them upwards into a tower.

Now the pewter sky began to change, lightening to a sickly green, and with a jolt of terror Hermione knew that the alien sun lurking just beneath the horizon would soon rise . . . exposing every hidden horror of this dark realm. She watched in awful fascination as the light crawled over the tar-black ponds and long blade-like grasses she and Severus had skirted. When the light touched the grasses they began to move, swaying in oddly regular patterns as if some massive, invisible being were running its fingers through it. With strange sluggishness, the light crept toward a dark bristling mass of forest, the home of Eznerif's kin. It would take a while to reach those trees, Hermione realized with something like relief. Longer yet to touch the distant line of snaggletoothed hills that shredded the dark, louring clouds. But when the creeping light did reach that line, she knew something horrifying would happen. Something unimaginable.

One hill reared highest, sharp and straight as a knife, and Hermione realized she was seeing the place where she had first entered this universe, the cliff-edge where—dizzy and sick—she'd looked down upon a vast, black forest and seen the far-off throbbing of a greenish light. At that moment she saw clearly the resemblance between this realm and the Wizarding World. The forest, the hills, this green-lit tower—a twisted nightmare of the Hogwarts she had once loved, built by Vinata with the remnants of her dead sister's power and the life-forces of the innocent.

From just above the windows a light suddenly flared: an emerald beam so bright Hermione had to narrow her eyes. The light cut like a scythe through the restless grasses far below, and in its wake it seemed black shapes twisted and writhed, shapes she couldn't clearly see, and for that small mercy she was grateful. As the light spoked away across the hummocks, licking the edge of the forest before fading, something lingered across her vision—a distant, cloudy glow. Hermione blinked, but it didn't go away. Then with a terrible chill, she recognized the grove of living, glowing trees where she and Severus had found two small lives they had sought . . . and where her flawed spell had pulled Ron into this realm.

Hermione remembered what Severus had told her, what Vinata would do to those life forces. She opened her mouth, but all she could do was form a silent _No_.

Vinata nodded at the distant grove, lips curved in a cold smile. "There aren't enough lives there to open the gateway. But your bright magic will compensate." She gave a slight, mocking bow. "I'm grateful: you've saved me years—perhaps centuries. In one stroke, you'll do far more than Severus ever could have." Her face shifted, and for a moment a creature beyond human understanding regarded the two humans with a chill, alien consideration. "Now," she said softly, "The time has come. _Stand up."_

The lines of force that bound Hermione shifted, then yanked her to her feet as if she were a marionette. She swayed, arms and legs tingling unpleasantly. "Speak," the gate-maker hissed, and Hermione took a ragged breath.

"I won't help you," she whispered. "You can't make me do this."

With a deadly smile, Vinata turned to look at Severus.

* * *

Huddled beneath Harry's invisibility cloak, Ginny fell back from the Hagrid-thing as it stalked her step by step, red eyes locked on hers. How could it possibly see her? In desperation she pushed the cloak away from her face and arms. As she emerged, Alice gave a startled yelp and Stan swore, and for a hysterical moment Ginny realized how strange she must look: a disembodied head with wild red hair; two arms connected to nothing but a wand that shone in the gloom like a firebrand. But no time to think; not time for anything but to throw hex after hex at this nightmare Hagrid. Circling behind the thing, Alice and Stan echoed the litany of curses. But nothing worked: the bonds of Incarcerous fell at the thing's feet, Confringo ran off massive shoulders like rainwater; it shrugged off Petrificus Totalis and slapped away Stinging Hexes like wasps. When Alice slammed the Hagrid-thing with a Stupefy spell, it paused and gave a massive sneeze, spraying viscous green ooze everywhere.

Time toescalate. Taking a deep breath, Ginny cried, " _Crucio_!" As green sparks flew from her wand and showered the Hagrid-thing, it stumbled, and with a rumbling groan shook its massive head. "That's got it!" yelled Stan, then he and Alice slammed the monster with blasts of Cruciatus so powerful they would have felled a giant. The Hagrid-thing halted in its tracks, swaying, blinking. The thick club drooped, and Ginny thought dizzily that at last their spells were working.

Suddenly a green light throbbed from behind the Hagrid-thing, flaring and guttering like a candle in a foul wind. The light changed, fluctuated, and then it wasn't a light at all but a writhing tunnel: its mouth infinitely far, then a second later so close it filled their vision. Limned by the sickly glow, the Hagrid-thing straightened with a roar, its tiny eyes blazing with rage, yellow teeth champing. Now it didn't just step forward; it leapt—straight toward Alice and Stan.

"Run!" Ginny shrieked. Stan stumbled back, but Alice froze as the Hagrid-thing bore down on her with horrifying speed, club raised high above its head for a killing blow.

No time to think.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ "

Green fire lanced from Ginny's wand and jagged across the Hagrid-thing's back. The giant jerked convulsively, dropping the club, and for a heartbeat Ginny thought she'd done it; she'd killed it. Then with a shattering roar the Hagrid-thing stooped and picked up Alice as if she were a doll. She screamed, her wand skittering away into the dark as the thing hoisted the young Auror high above his massive head and hurled her to the stone floor with a sickening crunch.

* * *

" _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

As Ron crashed down through the branches of the oak tree, Harry's spell caught and held him. Panting, gripping his wand with white-knuckled hands, he guided Ron away from the thrashing oak and lowered him gently to the ground. Ronan pushed past Harry then and circled the fallen man, hooves restless, keen eyes raking over the still white face and splayed limbs.

"He lives," the centaur said shortly, and Harry felt relief so overwhelming he started to shake.

Now the two Aurors came pounding over. "What the hell just happened?" panted Khonsu, pointing upward. Harry looked up to see shreds of black spiralling into nothingness, until only the pale blue sky of early morning remained.

With a shaky breath, Harry sheathed his wand. He sank to his knees beside his friend and tried to take Ron's pulse, but he felt nothing. Then someone knelt beside him, pushing Harry's hand away. "Let me," said Sekhmet, and passed her wand back and forth across Ron's body, murmuring low words Harry couldn't quite piece together, though he thought they might be Arabic. Suddenly Ron stirred, flinging a hand out, then with a long gasping breath he opened his eyes, looking around dazedly. Harry leaned in and put his hands on Ron's shoulders.

"Steady, mate. It's all right. You're safe."

With a convulsive jerk, Ron pushed himself up on his elbows. Then his face went white, and with a groan he slumped back down, breathing hard. "Harry?" he whispered.

Harry managed a smile. "Yeah."

"Thank Merlin." Ron took another couple of deep breaths, then opened his eyes and pushed himself up again—much more slowly this time. "Harry. She's alive. Hermione."

For a moment Harry stared at his friend, hope struggling against a sense that something was terribly wrong. "Where is she?" he managed at last.

Ron began to shake his head, then stopped, wincing. Harry took a deep breath, made himself speak calmly. "Where _is_ she, Ron?"

At last Ron looked at Harry, his face ghostlike in the gloom. "I tried to bring her back," he said in a low voice. "But she—she _pushed_ me. Then I, I was falling. I couldn't stop it. Couldn't do anything." Then he covered his face, hands shaking.

Harry took a deep breath and tried again. "Ron. Do you know how to find her?"

"No. No." Ron lowered his hands and met Harry's eyes again. Harry had never seen his expression so bleak. "It's a fucking horrible place. There's a thing—it looks like Hagrid, but it's a nightmare, a monster. And that woman—" he took a ragged breath. "She's worse. When she looks at you, it _hurts_. Like fangs sinking into your mind."

Harry looked helplessly at Sekhmet, who shrugged, then up at Ronan, who shook his head.

"I cannot tell you his meaning," the centaur said. "Only that he has travelled somewhere far outside our ken." His eyes darkened. "Yet that realm lies dangerously close. I sense it. It would be wise to leave this place."

Ron raised his head, and now his eyes seemed clearer. "Someone else is with Hermione." He swallowed, then said with difficulty, "I _think_ he wants to help her. But I don't know—if. . ."

"Who?"

"He died," Ron whispered. "Ten years ago. We saw him die. But in that place, he's _still alive_."

And Harry knew; he heard the unspoken name that had flickered like a candle within the confines of the Marauders' Map.

Suddenly Khonsu let out an oath, then Sekhmet lunged to her feet. Still crouching, Harry whipped around, wand at the ready. Something had appeared at the edge of the clearing, a long, low shape that glowed silvery-white against the dark trees behind it. It paced toward Sekhmet with a liquid grace that reminded Harry of a large cat. Its eyes fixed on the Auror, it opened its mouth, fangs shining, and gave a silent yowl.

"Stan," breathed Sekhmet. "That's his Patronus."

"But he's at Hogwarts," said Khonsu, looking puzzled. "Kiddie patrol."

"Something's come up," said Sekhmet. She spoke to the Patronus. "This had better be good, Stan, or I'll have your balls for breakfast." The large cat bared its fangs again, then vanished as the silver-haired Auror turned to Khonsu. "I'll deal with this. You rendezvous in the Forest with Ironstone's party."

But the moment Sekhmet Disapparated with a soft pop, another Patronus appeared. With shocking swiftness, the silvery white horse galloped straight toward Harry, mane flying. Harry shot to his feet as the horse reared above him, hooves flashing.

"Ginny!" Harry choked out the name.

Still on the ground, Ginny's brother stared up at the horse, which ceased its restless prancing just long enough to dip its beautiful head toward him. At that, Ron began to stagger to his feet. Harry helped him up, arm firmly under his elbow.

"Where is she?" said Ron.

"At Hogwarts," said Harry miserably. "She showed up just as we were starting our search. Ironstone made her stay behind. But something must be happening, or she wouldn't . . . " He cleared his throat, unable to go on.

"We've got to get back," said Ron, for the first time sounding like his old self.

"No time to take the brooms," said Harry. "You up for Side-Along?"

"Bring it on. I couldn't ride now anyway." Ron shuddered. "Too much—air."

* * *

In silence, Vinata had bound Severus's wrists to another leg of the great table. At least he was no longer shackled to the globes, enduring the slow agony of having his life-force drained. But with stark clarity, Hermione understood that any chance of saving him depended on her ability to open the gateway.

She raised her chin. "I'll need my wand."

The gate-maker's lips curved in a smile ripe with triumph. "Of course." With an almost flirtatious gesture she extended the wand. Hermione took it quickly, and despite everything felt a rush of gladness when the polished wood warmed to her fingers, as if recognizing the blood and bone of its rightful holder. Almost unconsciously she lifted the wand.

"Not yet," said Vinata, her voice suddenly cold. Hermione found herself frozen in place, wand partly raised, as the gate maker faced the leftmost window and raised both hands. Green light lanced from her fingers and twisted like rope through the window. The rope of light expanded, thinned, its centre hollowing until a tunnel wide enough for two adults extended into the dark world beyond the threshold. The tunnel dipped, a slow arc of flickering green that descended gradually to the twilit grassland, toward the shapes and shadows that Hermione had been grateful not to see clearly.

As the tunnel touched the ground, Vinata raised both her arms high and cried, " _To me!_ "

As the command rang off the polished stones of the gateway room, Hermione understood what was to come. Horror filled her throat, and her gaze flew to the distant grove of life forces. But for a moment nothing happened, and for a moment Hermione allowed herself to hope Vinata's magic wasn't powerful enough. Then one thin stream of light, a vibrant gold, rose slowly up from the lambent grove. It hovered, unfurling like a flower high above the grasslands. Then rose another light, then another, until the grove itself began to fade, the trees darkening and dying as the lights rioted above.

" _To me_ ," said Vinata again, her voice now low and crooning. In a rush the life forces converged and arced toward the tower. In only moments the first streams of light encountered the tunnel. But instead of entering, they slowed to a crawl and spiralled around the outside, moving upward in fits and starts as if trying to resist the force pulling them toward the gateway.

Vinata stepped to the window's edge and looked down at the dead lands below. " _To me_!"—a raw, rough shout—and a maelstrom of shadows erupted out of the restless grasslands and rushed toward the tunnel. As they converged, tangling, at the foot, Vinata made another twisting gesture with her hands, and her creatures began to surge up into the tunnel: a black tsunami of limbs and wings and tentacles. When no more shapes clotted the entrance, the tunnel lifted from the ground, rising as gradually as it had descended. Now a level corridor led straight to the leftmost window. Around its perimeter the glowing life forces spiralled slowly toward their final moments. And through it Vinata's children approached their mother, raising a cacophony of gurgling roars, screams, and whistles so shrill they hurt Hermione's ears.

But worse was to come. The searchlight at the tower's peak shifted suddenly from the distant edges of the marsh to the passageway, picking out each of Vinata's children with merciless clarity. Not even Hermione's most terrifying moments in the forest, not even the encounter with Eznerif's kin, could equal this nightmare. Her mind tried to skitter away from what her eyes insisted on seeing: walking bushes with eyeballs swaying at the ends of hairy stalks; blind hulks like the Belua, wrinkled muzzles blindly questing; things stumbling on three, five, six legs, their organs quivering wetly on the outside of their flayed skins. And—oh sweet Merlin—dog-sized spiders with the heads of beautiful children, eyes staring insanely at nothing.

And then, last but worst of all, a great shadow rearing up behind them—a thing of Darkness Visible. Deep within that profound blackness something coiled thickly, alive and hungry.

Hermione swayed, would have fallen if Vinata hadn't immobilized her. Insanity clawed at the edges of her mind.

"Look at me, Granger!"

Severus. Drowning in horror, she desperately held onto the sound of his voice.

" _Hermione_!"

With a trembling gasp as if breaking the surface of a deadly sea, she looked at him. Even helpless on the floor, his wrists bound behind him, he radiated a power she hadn't dreamt he still possessed. She breathed in and out; his eyes steadied her, and she felt the insanity receding, the darkness falling back, her mind reasserting control.

With grief and love, she realized he was bestowing upon her the last of his strength. Yet he held her eyes; he would not look away, however much it cost him.

Then to her astonishment, Severus's mouth quirked with a smile both wry and extraordinarily tender. "You are brilliant and brave," he whispered, "I know you will do what you must. What is right."

Tears rushed to her eyes. _As you did, always_ , she wanted to say. But she couldn't trust herself to speak.

The air glowed. Startled, Hermione tore her eyes from Severus to see ribbons of light coruscating around the edge of the leftmost window, moving back and forth in bursts as if struggling not to cross. With a soft laugh, Vinata made a "come here" gesture with her fingers and the lights streamed into the room, swirling like water down a drain toward the two globes that powered the gateway.

Inside the corridor the cacophony redoubled. Vinata's children had almost reached the threshold.

Vinata whirled. " _Stop!_ " She extended her arms, palms out. At once the creatures in the lead slowed, stumbling, some behind crashing into those in front, until the whole surging, bellowing mass had halted. Then she lowered her arms. " _Wait_ ," she said, the power of her soft voice filling the room like smoke. One of the lead creatures, a spider with the head of a little girl, opened its rosebud mouth and gave a high, screeching ululation that sent shivers down Hermione's spine. "When _I_ command," said Vinata coldly. Then her expression softened. "Not long, my lovely. I promise," she crooned, and reached out to gently stroke the spider-thing's shining blonde curls.

As Hermione swallowed her nausea, Vinata dropped her hand and glided toward her and Severus. Hermione gritted her teeth as the swirling emerald cloak almost touched her. The gate-maker didn't so much as glance at the humans; her gaze was focused on the two globes. She raised her right hand and the life forces began to whirl around the globes, their orbits erratic, almost frantic . . . as if they knew what was to come.

Vinata looked at Hermione, her eyes black and cold through the hazy glow of the life-forces. "Now, little witch," she said. "Open my gate, if you would be so kind."

"Granger," said Severus, his voice low, and whether he meant that as a warning or a reminder, Hermione couldn't tell. She couldn't read his voice, and she didn't dare look at him. For if any remnant of the strange and powerful bond still existed between her and Severus, Vinata might sense it; might even glean Hermione's last hope, however remote and desperate. She couldn't chance that. Couldn't.

Forcing back tears, she made herself turn away from Severus. Closing her eyes, she reached deep within to find the old Hermione: the swot, the know-it-all, the witch who had followed all the rules, taken all the steps . . . and blazed a trail into the abyss. Steadily, she envisioned her lab bench deep in the D.O.M. With her mind's precise eye she unsealed her notes, and the eleven equations of the M-spell unscrolled before her, line by painstaking line.

Hermione raised her wand high and drew the first equation in the air, hearing her own voice as if from a distance: _Mystery. Matrix. Mater. Magic._ She traced the second, and her wand began to glow. _Mystery. Matrix. Mater. Magic._ When she drew the third equation, the symbols burned like fire before her, and the very air she breathed seemed to change, grow thick and charged. At the sixth equation, golden light lanced from Hermione's wand-tip, growing, spreading until it became a glowing tunnel, the purity of its light rendering sick and cold the passage Vinata had conjured. Seventh. Eighth. The tunnel split in two, each end probing the two empty windows. She dimly heard Vinata's children begin to bellow anew; heard Vinata raise her voice to silence them, but they might as well have been a hundred universes away. Ninth. Tenth. The twin tunnels rushed through each window, obliterating the sickly dawn with twin beams of pure gold. _Mystery. Matrix. Mater. Magic!_ Hermione was almost screaming the words now, fighting for breath, for the strength to control this growing rip in the multiverse. Sweat stung her eyes and made her wand slippery.

With both hands she gripped it so hard her fingers ached, and traced the eleventh equation.

With a silent implosion that seemed to twist her insides, the two tunnels converged into one glowing corridor which, for a sickening moment, seemed to stretch infinitely far. Then the exit rushed at them until it seemed only yards away. At last it stabilized, and as the opening revealed the dim, dusty shelves of what looked very much like a storeroom for potions, Hermione knew her M-spell had worked perfectly.

And the spell would continue to work perfectly . . . until the time came to invoke the last Heisenberg symbol. That was what she'd forgotten when she'd released Diana and Terry's life forces back to the Wizarding World; the omission that had pushed her life-force into Ron's body, then pulled Ron into Vinata's universe. A terrible mistake that was now her only hope.

"Granger," came Severus's voice again, and this time Hermione heard doubt, even despair. But even as she swallowed back another rush of tears, she felt a strange uplifting energy. A moment later she realized the sensation came from her wand; it was pulsing with an invisible and yet brilliant force, almost as powerful as the magic in the water she and Severus had shared. With a jolt of astonishment and joy, she realized what this meant: through the open gateway, her wand was able to channel the Wizarding World's bright energy. Vinata had been right.

And with that energy . . .

Hermione turned her head to look at the life-forces, still whirling in their death-orbits as the globes slowly drained them of their essence.

She knew she could help them. But not without Vinata noticing.

The gate-maker raised her arms. " _Now!"_ It was a scream of pure triumph. The emerald cloak billowed in the wild wind roaring from the tunnel where the creatures waited. Like a bursting dam they poured into the chamber, filling the air with the harsh sound of their breathing and a stench like corpses. Hermione willed herself not to flinch from them, but at once they veered sharply left and fought their way in savage silence through the gateway she had opened to the old potions classroom. Though not all: some of Vinata's children still lagged in the tunnel their creator had made, milling aimlessly near its lip as if they had no idea what to do.

Vinata rounded on them, hissing orders through the chaos—her attention, at that one moment, diverted from Hermione.

Hermione's wand still thrummed with the bright magic of her own universe. _Now or never._ With the smallest of movements, she traced a familiar pattern; her lips moved in a spell born in her own universe. And ( _oh wonder, oh thank Merlin!)_ her wand streamed power from the Wizarding World; she could feel it, could feel it freeing the trapped life-forces. As they slowed their frantic spiralling, she knew Severus could see what she did, could sense him holding his breath in an agony of new hope as the ribbons of light began to pull away from the globes. As Vinata harried her creatures, the life-forces arced high above her head: thin, brilliant threads that streamed unnoticed through the gateway, speeding past the invaders toward Hogwarts' dungeons.

It took only a few breaths.

As the last of the life-forces escaped, Hermione lowered her wand. Now she looked at Severus, and saw in his eyes that he understood the magnitude of what she'd done—and what she hadn't done. She had left unspoken the last symbol, the one that might have stabilized the M-spell. Now chaos would begin its work.

The golden tunnel began to flicker, fluctuate. Vinata froze, her head swivelling to the gateway as its brilliance darkened like a storm approaching. As the rough howling screams of Vinata's trapped children began to echo down the dimming corridor, the Naga turned toward Hermione: disbelief, then rage distorting her perfect face. Hermione stood there, calm and still, the bright magic of her world draining from her wand as the gateway convulsed.

"Yes," Severus whispered. "Yes."

Vinata looked down at him. Her lips drew back from her teeth. Then in a heartbeat the gate maker was gone, and in her place writhed an enormous green-grey snake with yellow slitted eyes: taller than Severus, thicker than a human waist, shining with scales sharp enough to slice flesh. Its hood flared as it reared above them.

The jaws unhinged; twin fangs gleamed like daggers.

Hermione screamed a hex, but with impossible speed the snake twisted from her wand's dying fire and leapt at Severus, still bound to the table.

The fangs sank deep into his neck.

Severus screamed, his whole body convulsing.

As Hermione's scream of rage and grief echoed off the stone walls, the Naga ripped herself from Severus. Fangs dripping with his blood, she wove toward Hermione, flat yellow eyes regarding her with deadly consideration. Suddenly the gateway corridor turned greenish black. The snake whipped around to look.

The potions storeroom and its chaos of howling creatures vanished, and the oak grove appeared. The snake reared up, its hooded weaving back and forth. Then the oak grove vanished, and a distorted mass of twisted tree-roots took its place.

With a flick of her tongue, the Naga flowed like liquid poison through the dying gateway.

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you for reading, and to Banglabou, FrancineHibiscus, Saamon-sama, and others for your comments and responses!

A heads-up that Chapter Twenty, "Charm offensive," will be up TUESDAY Sept. 19 (I'm posting a day early because of mid-week commitments).


	21. Chapter 20--Charm offensive

**Chapter Twenty: "Charm offensive"**

Silence stretched, long and hideous, as the Hagrid-thing crouched above Alice's broken body. Then it hunkered down close, its mouth opening, and Ginny turned away in horror and grief, biting her lip hard at the sounds it made. She looked at Stan, bracing herself to stop him from leaping at the thing now despoiling his dead partner. But with a strange, glassy calm the Auror aimed his wand toward the dim doors at the back of the potions classroom.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" His voice was a mere whisper. Ginny couldn't imagine what sort of happy thought he could possibly summon, yet a silver cloud poured from Stan's wand-tip, forming a feline shape the size of a tiger. It glanced at Ginny for a moment and bared two enormous fangs, then it bounded away and vanished through the classroom walls.

" _Avada Kedavra_!" She looked back to see green flame lance from Stan's wand and sizzle over the Hagrid-thing's hunched back and bristling head. But as the flame died away and the monster, unperturbed, bent lower over Alice's body, Stan's calm shattered. "Get off her, you filthy fuck! Get off her!" He hurled the Unforgivable again, and again the spell splashed harmlessly into nothingness. "Would you _die_ for fuck's sake!" His voice broke in a sob.

"Won't work," whispered Ginny, and at her words the Hagrid-thing raised its head and looked at her, beard dripping, red eyes glaring. She stepped back, shaken. If it came after her again, she wouldn't be able to fight it. Not without more help. She had no idea where Stan had sent his Patronus, but for her there was only one person, now and always.

 _Harry! I need you. I need you._ Ginny forced herself to close her eyes, to reach past her horror and panic and her earlier anger . . . and in a breath Harry lay beneath her, firelight in his hair and laughter in his eyes as she ran a slow hand down the warm line of his neck and shoulder.

" _Expecto Patronum_!" In a swirl of silent beauty, the silver horse—her best and bravest self—took form. With relief and joy Ginny watched it gallop away until darkness swallowed it.

But what if Harry couldn't come or didn't get here on time? She looked back at the Auror, his face streaked with sweat and tears, hurling curse after curse: a futile litany of grief and rage.

Why magic was failing them, she couldn't fathom. But they had to make sure that murderous, hideous thing never left this room.

"Stan. Listen to me."

He ignored her.

"Stan . . . you have to help me!"

Slowly the flow of sobbing curses stopped. Stan backed away from the Hagrid-thing, shoulders heaving with harsh breaths.

"We can't let— _that_ —get into Hogwarts," said Ginny.

The monster again fixed its murderous eyes on Ginny, and this time she saw its muscles tense, the huge hands flex.

"The doors! Now!" she cried and broke into a run, weaving through the dark potions classroom, trying not to bang into potions tables as the sickly green light at her back threw monstrous pooling shadows ahead of her. Behind her, feet pounded—whether Stan's or the monster's she didn't know, didn't have a second to look.

The doors loomed. If an opening spell didn't work, she'd be dead in a few heartbeats.

Without warning, both doors blasted open against the stone wall. As Ginny skidded to a panting halt, a huge figure filled the opening, wild-haired and grey-bearded, holding a wand aloft whose tip blazed silver light. Small black eyes flicked down at her.

"All righ'?"

She nodded, too relieved to speak.

"Yeh'd best stand aside," said Hagrid, sounding remarkably calm. Ginny fell in beside the half-giant and turned to face the thing . . . but it wasn't behind her. It was closing in on Stan, who had leapt to a table in the middle of the room, wand raised, his face a grim mask as his young partner's murderer closed in on him. Ginny flashed a glance at Hagrid and saw his broad face go rigid as he took in the full sight of their enemy.

"Never seen summat so ugly," he muttered, then raised his voice to a roar. " _Sectumsempra_!" Fire lanced from the half-giant's wand and sizzled down the length of the monster's body. The thing shook itself, then with a howl smashed both massive fists down on the table separating it from Stan. It broke into two jagged halves.

Hagrid's brows shot high. "Gallopin' goblins."

Stan, still hurling hexes, leapt to another table. "For Merlin's sake, stop fucking around and help me!" he cried. But as Hagrid drew in breath for another spell, Ginny grabbed his arm.

"No! Curses won't work." Her fingers tightened. "Not even Unforgivables."

Hagrid blinked, clearly trying to absorb the impossible. It was as if she'd told him gravity no longer worked. Then he smiled grimly, teeth flashing white in the tangled beard.

"Well. Unless yer thinkin' o' charmin' tha' thing to death, then it's me bare hands if needs must." Faster than Ginny had seen him move before, Hagrid leapt away from her. As he surged toward his hideous doppelgänger she raised her wand, hoping against hope she could still protect Hagrid and Stan.

Then she froze, gripped by an astonishing thought.

Curses didn't work. Why not charms?

Stan stumbled and caught one foot between two tables. He lurched sideways with a shout, his wand flying from his hand as the Hagrid-thing loomed above him, its bristling blackness outlined by sickly green light. It raised its club high.

With a precision born of utter desperation, Ginny aimed her wand at the Hagrid-thing's open mouth, at the yellow teeth still slimed with its last unspeakable meal.

" _Engorgio_!"

Hagrid scooped up the Auror and leapt back as the club smashed the table. With a bubbling howl of rage, the monster started toward them. Then it froze. Its little red eyes blinked, and with a coughing grunt it staggered. The club slipped from its hands as it clutched its face, mouth stretched in a terrible rumbling moan. Ginny watched in stunned astonishment as the monstrous head shrank: slowly at first, then dwindling like a punctured balloon from the size of a lorry tire to that of an orange. The rumbling moan soared in pitch to an unearthly high screech as the head shrank to the size of an insect, then to a pin-point, then—

—to nothing.

For an endless, horrible moment the Hagrid-thing's headless body stood upright, swaying. Then like a felled tree it crashed to the floor, and greenish light flickered over its splayed limbs.

Hagrid let out a long, whooshing breath. Then he seemed to remember he had an Auror tucked under his arm. With great care, he placed Stan back on his feet and steadied him. Straightening his fake gardener's waistcoat with trembling hands, Stan turned to Ginny, who realized she hadn't moved, that her wand was still pointing where the monster had stood. As she lowered it, she remembered she still wore Harry's Invisibility Cloak, now slipping partway off her shoulders. How odd that must look. She shrugged the cloak off her shoulders and stuffed it back into her pack.

"What—just happened?" Stan whispered.

Hagrid looked at Ginny, thick brows raised. "I heard yeh say—Engorgio."

At that moment the sickly light spilling into the potions classroom light dimmed and died. Deep darkness closed around them, relieved only by a flickering glow from the ordinary torches from the corridor outside the classroom.

" _Lumos_ ," said Hagrid, and soft silvery light played across their drawn faces. "Well," he said almost conversationally, " _tha'_ charm worked like it's supposed teh." There was a pause, as if no one knew what to say or do. Then Hagrid frowned, his brows beetling.

"We have teh go. Seal this room off before—" he stopped himself.

Before something else comes, Ginny thought.

"You go," said Stan. "I won't leave her." His voice broke, and Ginny laid her hand on his arm, unable to stop herself from offering comfort. He gave her a remote, almost puzzled look, then turned toward the crumpled, ragged body that lay at the front of the potions classroom. "Just _go_ ," he said savagely.

Hagrid shook his head. "I'll help yeh." He shot Ginny a glinting look. "I need yeh here by the door. Keep an eye out. All righ'? She nodded, ashamed at how relieved she was at not having to see poor Alice. She watched Hagrid and Stan fade into the dark, wands flickering, then with a sigh stationed herself at the door and pointed her wand down the corridor at the nearest torch. " _Engorgio_ ," she whispered, and the small flame obligingly grew to the size of a watermelon.

Why had this charm worked as it was supposed to, while earlier it had done the exact opposite? Not that she was sorry; she'd be hard-pressed to think of a more fitting death for that, that— _thing_. But still . . .

As she puzzled, a breeze tickled her cheek, ruffled her hair. Ginny raised her head, glad to feel some air in that dank and breathless place, before remembering the dungeons had no windows. None at all. The only breezes in the dungeons came from movement: Slytherins skulking to their common room, house elves cleaning, or—something else. Something coming. With a shock, she realized she could no longer see the silver flicker of lights from Stan's and Hagrid's wands. "Hagrid?" she called shakily into the dark. As if in answer, the breeze strengthened, lifting her hair, carrying a cold, lifeless tang that felt like nothing of this earth.

Heart pounding in her throat, Ginny began to raise her wand.

White light exploded from the doorway of the potions office and blazed through the old classroom. Ginny staggered backward, her hand in front of her eyes. As the light poured itself around benches and tables, it shifted from white to molten gold and began to thicken, to swirl and coalesce until it formed into a thick, large-mouthed funnel. Its end groped from the doorway like a head of a snake, and Ginny found herself looking deep into its mouth, past twisting rings of light to a tiny, infinitely faraway portal. Suddenly the tunnel shimmered and the portal seemed horribly close, only yards away, then it retreated again, but by then Ginny had seen what was trying to get through. Creatures—ghastly, distorted things beyond anything she could have imagined—beyond even the worst Voldemort could have conjured. They were fighting each other, shoving and biting, sprays of black, viscous fluid flying. Yet she could hear nothing—they fought in utter silence. A thing like a nightmare centaur reared up above the rest, baring saw-like teeth, and through the length of the tunnel it met Ginny's eyes. Then as if a switch had been thrown she heard them, a cacophony of roars and squeals and unearthly shrieks tumbling like a tsunami through the vortex.

They were coming.

Shaking, she raised her wand. " _Colloportus_!" she cried. Nothing. " _Obstruo_!" That was the most powerful blocking spell in an Aurors' arsenal, capable of moulding thin air into steel. But the mouth didn't close, and Ginny knew with sickening certainty that something about this tunnel had perverted the normal laws of magic, contaminating her spells in a way she had never experienced and couldn't begin to fathom.

The centaur-thing pounded down the tunnel toward her, black hooves flashing, the other creatures hard behind. They were only moments away.

"Hagrid!" she screamed, and through the shrieks of the invaders she heard his faint yell—"Get out!"

"No," Ginny whispered. Backing toward the classroom doors, she choked out an Unsealing spell. Her wand twisted with the force of it, and she watched the tunnel mouth, knowing if this spell didn't turn perverse as her Engorgio had, she would have to turn and flee—run for her life to warn the school, and leave Hagrid and Stan behind to be torn to pieces.

Then in front of her unbelieving eyes, the tunnel mouth began to shrink—but not before the centaur-thing reached the opening. Eyes blazing, teeth champing, it forced its head and torso through, arms scooping powerfully as if the very air had substance. Behind it the other creatures roiled and howled, and Ginny caught a clear, horrifying glimpse of a spider the size of a large dog with the head of an angelic little blond girl. The hairy black legs flailed as it scrambled to get past the centaur, and from the rosebud mouth came a scream of insane rage. Hooves drove down into the spider's bag-like torso. It fell, convulsing, and the little-girl head began to sob as piteously as any hurt child.

Horror and grief stopped Ginny's breath. She wavered at the doorway, her hands nerveless, her eyes blurred with sudden tears. Her wand felt heavy as a leaden bar. As if sensing her weakness, the mouth of the tunnel began to widen.

Then came sounds behind her—pounding feet, a hoarse shout. She started to turn slowly, so slowly, knowing she couldn't defend herself on time.

Something grabbed her from behind.

* * *

Harry felt Ginny struggling to yank herself away from him. He cried her name and she whirled to face him, her face deadly pale in the poisonous light from the potions classroom. For a moment she simply stared at him, mouth open, then she was in his arms and he was holding her harder than he'd ever held her before. "Harry?" she whispered, her voice catching on a sob. "Oh, sweet Merlin . . ." and her hands clutched his jacket as if she were drowning.

"Are you all right?" His own voice shook.

"Y—yes."

"Ginny!" At the sound of Ron's voice she pulled back from Harry, her eyes widening.

"Ron." Her voice caught on a sob. "Are you—" She started toward him, but Ron caught her arm.

"I'm all right," he said. "But what the fuck is _that_?"

They turned as one toward the doors. A whirling tunnel filled half the old potions classroom, lurid golden light spilling across the smashed and tumbled tables and benches. Harry saw something black protruding from the tunnel's narrow mouth, something that struggled to get through. It looked a bit like a centaur, yet never in all his hard years fighting Voldemort and his Death Eaters had he seen something so profoundly alien, so evil, as that monstrous head with its lumps of straggling hair, the predator's teeth, the ropy misshapen arms.

Then something else appeared at the tunnel's mouth—two, three long black legs with hair like hooks, groping with horrible delicacy. Four. Five legs.

"No," said Ron hoarsely. "Oh, no."

Harry took a shuddering breath. The air felt thick and poisoned. "Killing curse," he said. He should have felt his heart shudder at the prospect of unleashing the worse of Unforgivables, but he felt only cold determination. "All of us. Together." But as he raised his wand, power swirling dark within him, Ginny grabbed his arm to stop him.

"No! I've tried that. It doesn't work. It might even make them more powerful." She whirled to aim her wand at the tunnel's mouth. " _Recludero_!"

"What are you _doing_?" Harry leapt at her, hand outstretched for her wand. "You're opening it!"

She dodged back. "No! I'm closing it! Only opposite spells work—look!"

Harry looked. Something was happening. The mouth of the tunnel had begun to pulse irregularly, like a failing heart. Still caught, the centaur-thing howled and the spider's legs thrashed, its perfect little mouth a square of rage.

"She's right," Ron shouted. "It's closing!"

Harry looked at Ginny, relief and admiration struggling with remorse at having doubted her. "Let's do it," he said, and she must have seen in his face what he was unable to say, for her rigid expression relaxed a little.

As one, they faced the writhing tunnel mouth. Three wands rose in unison, three sets of lungs drew breath . . .

A swirl of wind and a chorus of shouts exploded behind them. Suddenly they were surrounded by people; the air sizzled with Aurors' battle spells. The others had come at last, but Harry knew with crushing despair their attack-spells would be worse than useless. Reeling, buffeted by currents of magic, he saw the tunnel mouth widening again. The centaur-thing leapt free, followed by the spider with its hideous child's head, then another spider, another centaur, then something like a bush that walked, swaying, on needle-sharp thorns.

An Auror shouted—"Tactic Beta! _Now_ , dammit!" and Harry recognized Sekhmet's voice. Struggling to raise his wand in the crush, he heard Ginny shriek—" _Engorgio_!"

The lead spider stopped its advance, jerking, and began to scream like a child in pain. As Harry watched in fascinated horror, the small, beautiful head began to shrink. The screams rose to shrill cries, then a thin whistling sound, then silence. The headless body collapsed, legs juddering.

For a moment the other invaders hesitated. Some wavered near the tunnel, eyeing the corpse. One or two began backing up toward the mouth.

Harry whirled to face the massed Aurors. "Forget about Tactic Beta," he yelled at their bewildered faces. "Use opposite spells! Use _charms_!"

"Are you insane?" shouted one of the Aurors as Sekhmet stared at Harry, her grey eyes icy. Then she raised her wand, and Harry whirled back to the squirming tunnel-mouth. The air felt so thick he couldn't tell whether he was shouting or whispering; he felt a terrible sapping of energy, as if the tunnel were draining the life from him. Easily evading Harry's charm, the lead centaur-thing reared, hooves flashing, and gave a terrible shriek—a ghastly call to arms. The other invaders stopped their uncertain milling. With slow deliberation they turned toward the humans and began to advance: their eyes hungry and pitiless, their dripping mouths alive with appetite. Behind them came more, pouring like sewage from the tunnel's opening, undeterred by any of the Aurors' spells.

Harry felt Ginny and Ron closing in beside him to form a tight, desperate semi-circle.

* * *

Hermione sank to her knees beside Severus. He had stopped screaming, but his breathing was ragged, and he shivered violently as the Naga's poison gripped him. "No. No," she whispered. She wanted to throw herself on him and weep, scream out her despair and grief, because it was all happening again, all over again as it had in the Shrieking Shack—the blood, all that blood, everything draining from Severus, even his memories . . . then the three of them leaving his body behind.

No. Not this time. Not again. Because if he died—this hard, unlikeable man who had lifted her beyond anything she had thought possible—if Severus Snape died, she wouldn't want to live. Not without him.

With grim determination, Hermione laid the tip of her wand against Severus's neck.

A minute or an eternity later, she had managed to slow the flow of blood, but that was all. None of her healing charms worked in this poisoned universe, and though her intellect insisted she should try their opposites, she couldn't bring herself to do that; couldn't take the risk of some horrible chaotic backlash. Nor could she summon the energy to conjure Severus's Life Path, yet she knew what she would see: the coloured skeins of his life-force thinning and fading as they crawled toward the dark.

Hermione lowered her wand, sweat and tears running down her face. Though he bled more slowly now, Severus was dying. And there was nothing she could do.

Then his eyes opened. Only the whites showed. He groped blindly for her, and she took his hand. His cold fingers clamped painfully around hers.

"Sh—shelf," he whispered harshly. "In. Case. Shelf—" Then he shivered convulsively, pulling his hand away from hers and drawing both his arms up to his chest. "Find it!" The command burst from him, a shout of pain.

And then she knew. He was telling her he had an antidote.

Dropping her wand, Hermione surged to her feet and staggered over to the shelves filled with bottles, phials, and pouches.

Severus had served Vinata year after year; of course he'd be prepared for her wrath. Of course he had an antidote. Something in a case. But as she desperately scanned the shelves, she saw nothing like a case; recognized no ingredients that could possibly heal this grievous wound. Severus groaned again, and she knew he had almost no time left, but she couldn't find it, couldn't find it! In despair she sank to her knees.

Then she saw it: on the lowest shelf, deep in shadow. A mug, a tea-mug from Hogwarts of all things, the Slytherin crest engraved on its side. She picked it up and saw the mouth was stoppered with smooth red wax, and carved into it with clear, tiny letters were the words: IN CASE.

In case the Naga decided it was time to dispose of her servant.

Trying to steady her shaking hands, Hermione pried the wax away. An eye-watering smell rose up, making her cough. Dittany. Of course—and something else, as if the preparation were cut with another ingredient. But she had no choice. It was this or death.

In a heartbeat she was back at Severus's side. Gently, she turned his head to expose the jagged, seeping marks of the Naga's fangs. Dipping her fingers into the mug, she spread the gluey paste over the wounds.

Severus's whole body convulsed, his hands clawing the floor. Startled, she pulled back.

"Severus . . . it's all right. It's your antidote." Hermione caught his arms, tried to steady him—and a horrible thought struck. What if this was no antidote? What if the potions master had prepared a cupful of death, a release from the dark half-life he had come to loathe? _And made me give it to him?_

Then she felt a stirring of air behind her—a warm, peculiar touch that made the hairs on her neck stand on end. Slowly she turned to face the twisted land shaped from the dark matter of Vinata's mind, to see the grey twilight brightening. The heavily clouded sky glowed green, and as long fingers of fierce green light stretched across the lumpy marshland, casting distorted shadows before it, Hermione realized the long-hidden sun of this world was rising at last. And as it rose, it threw fire across the land. In a few heartbeats everything began to burn, everything: the blade-like grass, the things hiding within it, the dead branches that had stored the stolen life-forces—even the faraway forest, tree-tops bursting into green flame.

As she watched in horror, tendrils of black smoke began to rise up from below and curl hungrily around the three windows.

Severus shifted, and Hermione looked down. His eyes were fully open, clear and lucid, and the wounds in his neck had almost stopped bleeding. As she drew a sobbing breath of relief, Severus's mouth curved with the ghost of a smile. "Well done," he whispered. She smiled tremulously back and laid her hand against his cheek. For a moment his warm lips grazed her palm. Then he shifted restlessly to look out the three windows, at a land consumed with green fire. A wind had arisen with a terrible crackling roar to lash the flames toward Vinata's stronghold. Thick black smoke was starting to creep through the open windows. It smelled foul, as if the corpses of unspeakable things were being roasted.

"We have to get out of here." Hermione strove to keep her voice calm. "Is there a passage? Somewhere underground?"

Severus reached for her hand. His fingers were cold, despite the rising heat. "Hermione. Listen. This paste will only slow her poison—enough to buy a bit more time. It's no cure. There is no cure." As she opened her mouth to protest, his eyes bored into hers, and their urgency and pain stilled her. "I need your wand," he whispered. "Trust me. Please." He raised his other hand, palm out. It was shaking.

Wordlessly, her eyes never leaving Severus's face, Hermione groped for her wand and gave it to him. He raised it weakly and murmured something under his breath she couldn't catch, and a mist of silver light arose from his hand. The mist began to wrap itself around her wand, curling into a rope of light that strengthened to a pure, gentle glow—and Hermione's throat closed in horror as she realized Severus was giving up his memories as he had done before, somehow transferring them to her wand. "No," she choked, and she lunged out to stop him.

But as she touched the white fingers that gripped her wand she felt a shock of power, a brilliant force surging through their joined hands like a river of fire. As her wand blazed, a sphere of light leaped from its tip: a palm-sized sun, pulsing with gold and silver, transcendent and joyous and bright beyond any experience. Hermione's eyes filled with tears, and yet she gazed deep into the light without pain as it hovered above them, as its brilliance beat back the harsh green of the encroaching flames.

In utter silence, the tiny sun split in two: a gold star and a silver. They arced up toward the great stone table and plunged into the two darkened globes that had powered the gateway. As the globes began to pulse with light, their force thrumming through the room, Hermione at last understood what Severus had done. He had given his own life force, and she had emblazoned it with her own inner fire.

The two globes gave one last mighty flare, then darkened and died . . . and Hermione came back to herself. Her hands still gripped his, but the wand was lifeless, and again Severus's fingers felt like ice. The white room was filling now with heat and foul black smoke. She dashed tears and sweat from her eyes, fighting the urge to cough, and peered anxiously down at Severus. His face looked like a death-mask, but his eyes held hers steadily.

"Go." His voice was so faint she could barely hear him. "Go," he whispered again, and she followed his gaze. Through the leftmost of the three windows, the flames devouring Vinata's world had become a grove of twisted oaks, their leaves moving silently against a calm blue sky.

Home.

Severus coughed harshly, his body convulsing. "Go! Now! For fuck's sake—!"

Hermione shoved her wand up her sleeve and surged to her feet. "Not without you. Never without you!" She clamped her hands around Severus's wrists.

"Stupid girl!" he gasped. He tried to pull away, but he was weak, and she held onto him with a manic strength borne of desperation.

As flames licked around them, Hermione dragged Severus inch by inch toward the gateway.

* * *

 **Note:** Many thanks for the thoughtful, funny, and fierce responses to Ch. 19!

Chapter 21, "Avada Kedavra," will be posted on September 24.


	22. Chapter 21--Avada Kedavra

**Chapter Twenty-One: "Avada Kedavra"**

 **[Warning: Character Death]**

It was like the Battle of Hogwarts all over again. As the twisting golden tunnel disgorged nightmare after nightmare, Ginny ducked and dodged, hurling Engorgio with numb, unthinking precision. She sensed Harry and Ron close by, the three of them flanked by Sekhmet's Aurors, now barraging the invaders with the shouts and fire of their own charms. Three of the human-headed spiders scuttled toward her, their rosebud mouths open and wet as if begging for sweets. She hurled a Gripping charm and found a moment to marvel at its strange oppositional effect as the creatures slipped helplessly, legs splaying in all directions. Harry shouted a Growth charm, and a walking thorn-bush as tall as a door shrank to the size of an apple. He stomped on it with a grunt of disgust.

Ron was grinning manically. "I can top that!" he yelled, and threw a Slug-Vomiting charm at one of the centaurs. The creature slowed and with a howl began pawing at its head. Ginny saw slugs crawling from the bristling hair and, one by one, slither into the centaur-thing's gaping mouth. Choking, it sank to its knees. Ginny turned away, shuddering.

Ron caught her eye. He was no longer grinning. "Whatever it takes," he said. "I've seen where they come from."

Harry had fallen back to Ginny's side. "There's too many," he panted, and with a shock of dismay she saw the gateway had disgorged at least a dozen more creatures—some leaping from table to table with howls of triumph, others slithering with a horrible liquid grace, all converging on the handful of humans. And behind them, backing up along the writhing tunnel in a long, seething line, were dozens more, shoving and snapping their teeth in their impatience to squeeze through the mouth.

Sekhmet had clearly seen the same thing. "Fall back!" she bellowed. "Fall back!" and Ginny knew the Aurors would try sealing the classroom doors by any means possible. But did they know Hagrid and Stan were in there, somewhere in the gloom beyond the tunnel's twisting light? She twisted in Harry's grasp.

"Yeh heard her! _Fall back_!" came a great bellow. To Ginny's joy, Hagrid's massive head and broad shoulders loomed out of the dark behind the invaders. It was clear he'd been busy. "Bring it on, yeh plug-ugly bastards!" he roared. Scooping up two handfuls of the child-headed spiders he hurled them, wriggling and screaming, into the mouth of the tunnel, where they disappeared beneath the barbs, hooves, and teeth of their compatriots. Nearby Sekhmet stood her ground, lancing charms that lit the far corners of old potions classroom.

"Close the doors!" yelled a thin-faced Auror.

Harry shoved Ginny into Ron's arms. "Be right back," he hissed in her ear, then whirled toward the doors. "Harry!" Ginny screamed as Ron yelled, "Not without us!" They both leapt to follow, but the thin-faced Auror barred their way.

"Fall _back_ , you idiots! That's an order!"

With shocking suddenness, the tunnel mouth vomited what seemed like an army of spiders. They leapt at Hagrid and engulfed him. The half-giant heaved, arms flailing as he tried to throw them off, but there were too many. Sekhmet whirled toward the spiders. " _Tarantallegra_!" she cried as Harry came up beside her, joining his power to the Auror's. The opposite effect took hold; clusters of Hagrid's attackers stiffened into paralysis and dropped away from the half-giant. Ginny let out a sobbing breath of relief.

Then something utterly black filled the tunnel's mouth, dimming the golden light to a dull, fitful glow. A tendril of blackness oozed slowly into the room—then another, another. To Ginny, it was as though darkness had been made not only visible but terribly alive . . . and ravenous. It _hungered_.

A deep and terrible silence fell as Harry and Sekhmet stood, wands raised, as tendrils of the Darkness Visible thickened and curled above them. Then Sekhmet grabbed Harry by his jacket and with a tremendous heave sent him reeling out through the doors. The Auror whirled toward the Darkness, red fire sizzling from her wand, and Ginny saw her limned in the fire of her own magic before the Darkness covered her.

Sekhmet's wand rolled slowly out into the corridor.

Harry, his expression stunned and blank, picked up the fallen wand. He stared at it for a heartbeat or two, then raised his head and shouted to the Aurors—"Seal the tunnel!" He aimed his wand and Sekhmet's at the tunnel's mouth and the rearing wave of the Darkness Visible. " _Recludero_!" Ron and Ginny leapt to his side.

From the corridor behind them came a sudden great hubbub of raised voices, then a rush of air and brilliant flashes as magic ricocheted off the walls. The corridor was filling with a chaos of new Aurors—including Clara Ironstone, who had put Ginny in her place at Hogwarts' gates. Ginny grabbed the team leader by the shoulders and yelled in her face, "Opposite spells! Use _opposite_ spells!" For a second Ironstone stared at her as if she'd gone mad, then to Ginny's unspeakable relief the Auror nodded and fell in beside her, joining her power with theirs. With a start of joy Ginny saw the other Hogwarts faculty who had been in the search party—and Firenze, all his noble rage unleashed. But her eyes were drawn to the slight, robed figure following Firenze, holding high a wand that blazed white light. Minerva McGonagall had joined the battle. As magic blazed like lightening through Hogwarts' dungeons, it seemed unimaginable that they couldn't keep the Darkness Visible at bay. That they couldn't seal the tunnel.

Ginny realized she was panting. It was getting harder to breathe, as if something toxic were slowly filling the room. Beside and around her she heard voices growing hoarse, saw wands drooping.

Before her eyes the Darkness Visible reared slowly over Hagrid. The half-giant stood his ground, wand raised and teeth bared.

A shift of air. Ginny blinked. One moment McGonagall had been behind them, shielded by Firenze. Now she stood out in front, alone: an old woman facing the Darkness. She said something hard and fierce, and her wand traced circles in the air. One by one, each circle erupted into spheres of fire. The Darkness rippled, as if regarding this with great interest. For a breathless moment the spheres hovered, then in a silent rush they descended on the Darkness.

"What _is_ that?" Harry whispered.

McGonagall snapped a quick glance back at them, her bespectacled eyes blazing almost as fiercely as her wand, and spoke the strange charm again with crystal clarity. Her message was clear. Raising her wand high, Ginny copied McGonagall's fierce, staccato intonation. Harry's and Ron's voices joined in, and flaming spheres filled the air, plunging into the heart of the Darkness Visible. From those black depths came a terrible thin sound like a scream. Tendrils writhed. The spell was working. But in that hell-fire light Ginny also saw the scrabbling silhouettes of human-headed spiders and the flailing shapes of living bushes that had escaped the Aurors' charms. They were closing in for another attack. Hagrid saw them as well; he backed away from the Darkness, circling around to cover McGonagall.

Ginny couldn't help. None of them could; they needed all their energy to attack the Darkness. Trying to control this strange, wild magic was like trying to keep a boat from capsizing in the teeth of a storm. She was panting; sweat stung her eyes.

Then something new emerged from the tunnel's mouth. High above the spheres of flame that harried the roiling Darkness Visible erupted streams of light, dozens of them—fiery gold, passionate red, brilliant blue, cool white—every glorious colour that had ever pulsed beneath the sun. McGonagall lifted her lined old face to the brilliant streamers dancing above. After a moment, she gave a slight smile and lowered her wand. The fiery spheres attacking the Darkness flickered out like candles.

"No," said Harry, his voice flat with despair, but Ginny felt her exhaustion vanish in the face of a strange, uplifting joy. She touched Harry's arm, wondering if he felt it.

The lights began a slow and gentle descent. Some circled the Darkness, and Ginny saw how its edges visibly shrank from their brilliance. Others hovered above the remaining spiders, walking bushes, sharp-toothed flowers, other things too vague to see in the shadows. Yet none of the creatures cringed or recoiled; they simply stared up at the shifting colours as if mesmerized. Then, eyes still fixed on the lights, they all began to move in a slow clumsy shuffle . . . straight toward the Darkness Visible.

"Yes. _Yes!_ " Harry whispered.

* * *

Hermione found herself kneeling above an unconscious Severus, gasping for breath . . . somewhere. A glowing pearly-grey corridor that shrank and stretched oddly. She turned her head. Framed by a tall window, the green, licking flames of Vinata's terrible sunrise devoured the tower room. The other way, the golden sunshine touched the quiet oaks. One moment each portal seemed only a few feet away; the next, far distant points.

Hermione pushed herself to her feet, conscious of a slight dizziness as if she'd stood up too quickly. But this gateway experience felt nothing like the painful, sick twisting of her first trip through, as if every molecule were being ripped inside out. _Maybe that means I've adapted to the dark universe._ No; she wouldn't think about that. She couldn't.

"Severus." She tapped his chest. "Severus!" He moaned. Heartened, she gripped his wrists to pull him farther, but he was too weak to help, and her sweaty fingers lost their hold. With a harsh sob she grabbed two handfuls of black coat and yanked Severus another yard. Then another.

And then Hermione could pull no more. She couldn't even stand. Slumping to the pearly-grey floor she leaned, panting, against the pulsating wall of the threshold tunnel, Severus's coat still twisted in her hands. It seemed as if every ounce of energy were being drained from her, and on the heels of that feeling came another cold, dispassionate thought: _It's too late to go home. I'll die—and so will he._

Hermione felt Severus move. His eyes opened and found hers. "Granger?"

"I'm here." She hesitated. "We're almost through the gateway. Can you move?"

Severus shook his head. "No. Wait. There's something—you must—do."

"Anything. After we get through." Grimly, Hermione got to her knees. If she couldn't pull him standing on her feet, she would do it crawling.

"No! Now!" Severus's hands darted up and grabbed Hermione's hair. She cried out and tried to loosen his fingers.

"The Killing Curse," he whispered. "You must use it."

"What?"

"On _me_."

Hermione tried to rear back, but his grip was terrible. She clawed at his hands. "No! Let me go!"

Severus's grip only tightened. His eyes blazed into hers, and reflected in them were the rising flames of Vinata's dying universe.

"No," she whispered. "Oh god, no."

"Please." His fingers began to loosen. "Hermione. Please." His whisper faded. His face went very still, and from one heartbeat to the next Hermione knew his open eyes no longer saw her. They no longer saw anything.

Hermione stared down at Severus's body as the grey walls of the tunnel fluctuated, dimmed. The gateway was losing stability, but she felt nothing, didn't care, couldn't move even as the tunnel darkened, as the green glow of Vinata's fatal sun and the golden light from the oak grove began to fade.

Then at last she understood.

With a desperate sob Hermione shot to her feet, wand clenched in a shaking fist as the realization seared through her heart. In the Wizarding World, the Killing Curse was an execution. But here, so close to Vinata's realm . . .

A fragile hope, dangling from the claws of desperation. But it was all she had.

Severus hadn't wanted to die. He wanted to live.

Pointing her wand at Severus's still form, Hermione closed her eyes. Instead of rage and hate, she opened the floodgates of her soul to remember the sound of his voice, the dark brilliance of his eyes, the power of his touch and the way it had undone her. Most of all, the vow she had made never to leave him: in this world or any other.

She opened her mouth to whisper it: _Avada Kedavra_. Instead she heard herself shouting the incantation with a force that could have shattered universes. As its power reverberated up and down the gateway, she opened her eyes to see the body of Severus Snape bathed in brilliant green fire.

* * *

With a shocking lack of violence, the streamers of light shepherded the mesmerized invaders into the maw of the Darkness Visible. A human-headed spider was last. As its bristly legs disappeared into nothingness, the living lights converged around the Darkness in a shimmering ring of impossible, multi-coloured beauty. The ring began to spiral in toward the Darkness. As it drew closer and closer, Harry heard Ginny say softly, "No! They'll die!" She sounded grief-stricken.

A light flared—so bright Harry had to squeeze his eyes shut. There came a sound like thunder, and a plug of hot, foul wind slammed into him. "Ginny!" he cried, and threw an arm up to shield his face.

The wind died. A ringing silence fell.

Harry lowered his arm. For a long, frozen moment he stared at the ordinary darkness of an old, disused room. The tunnel had vanished. There was no sign of the living, devouring darkness that had taken Sekhmet.

One by one, wand-tips flared with Lumos spells, sending shadows scurrying around overturned chairs and broken tables. Whispers arose, then low voices, one of them Clara Ironstone's: an order to secure the area. Harry turned to Ginny and saw tears streaking down her cheeks. As he began to reach for her, he heard a faint rustle nearby, a sound like a gentle sigh, and Minerva McGonagall collapsed gently to the floor. She lay there like a broken doll as Harry, then Ron and Ginny rushed up, as Clara Ironstone pushed them aside and knelt beside McGonagall. Clara touched McGonagall's head with her wand. She hesitated, frowning, then began a repetitious, curiously soothing singsong whose words Harry couldn't quite catch, while her wand traced looping patterns in the air above the old woman. Suddenly skeins of coloured, intricately connected lines sprang from her wand-tip. They reminded Harry a little of the lights that had banished the Darkness Visible. The skeins unfurled into intricate, brilliant patterns, but in moments they began to darken, like streams plunging deep into a void beneath the earth.

A Life-Map. Though Harry had heard of that spell, he had never seen it done before taking the desk-job. Beside him Ron draw a sharp breath. He was staring at the darkening patterns, his expression stricken . . . as if he understood what he was seeing.

"We need a Healer," said Clara, her voice tight.

Harry lurched to his feet. "Someone get Madam Pomfrey!"

Suddenly Hagrid shouted, "Look!"

The brilliant living streamers that had vanquished the Darkness Visible were back, pouring out of the potions storeroom. Ginny gave a choking sob as they coalesced in the centre of the old classroom, and Harry felt his jaw go slack with awe as the lights came together in a whirling celebration, dipping and dancing. He had no clue what the lights were or what they were doing, yet the sheer joy of their movements brought a lump to Harry's throat. Like darting butterflies, like soaring eagles . . . no, like nothing ever seen on Earth. Not even in the Wizarding World.

One by one, the lights began to stream toward the open double doors.

"They're—leaving," Harry heard Ginny say, her voice thick as if she were crying. But even as stream after stream of light plunged through the doors, their brilliance blazing through the dim corridors, two or three tendrils veered away from all the rest. Gently, they descended toward Minerva McGonagall.

"Clara," said one of the Aurors in warning, but the team leader was already on her feet and backing away as the streams of light—blue, silver, blazing yellow—circled slowly around the old woman's still form. The dimming Life Map flickered and died, and Harry felt Ginny's hand creeping into his. As they watched, helpless, it seemed a mist formed around McGonagall. The mist quickly thickened into a glowing rainbow ribbon that rose, twisting and curling, casting warm brilliance upon their upturned, wondering faces. The three streams of light circling around McGonagall ascended with it, all dancing together like kites in a spring wind.

"No," Harry heard Ginny whisper, her voice breaking. "Don't leave—" and Harry tightened his hand around hers. But at Ginny's words the rainbow ribbon checked its ascent and swooped toward her. As she tried to flinch away, the light wrapped itself almost cat-like around her shoulders. She froze, but an instant later her strained face relaxed. She broke into a huge, trembling smile and her hands rose as if to try and touch the light, but the rainbow unwrapped itself from her and flowed away. As Harry whirled to watch it go, the ribbon seemed to dip and loop like an airplane doing a victory roll before it streaked out past the doors, out and away, surrounded by other skeins of brilliant light. Just a few were left to follow.

He turned to Ginny. "What _was_ that?" he wanted to ask, but now the living lights were gone, all gone, until the only light came from the dim lamps in the corridor, flickering with the aftermath of a power beyond understanding.

Harry looked down at McGonagall's body. Perhaps he was imagining that the rigid limbs looked more relaxed now, as if all pain and trouble had lifted away with the light of her passing.

Ginny was staring at the doors. Without a word, Harry gathered her into his arms.

* * *

Every centaur could penetrate the bounds of the Interdiction, for no known form of human magic could break their ancient bond with the Forest. But they felt its sticky force nonetheless. It reminded Ronan of trying to push through the webs of Aragog's folk. Guiding a cluster of Aurors on this dawn's search for the two humans who had most recently disappeared, Ronan found himself holding onto courtesy by a thin thread. _What about those of our kin who have vanished into the Forest's heart?_ But he had agreed to guide the Aurors into the Forest, so he held his peace as dawn faded into a cloudy morning; as the search went on, grinding and fruitless. Then a shout went up, and all the Aurors regrouped, grim-faced. One of them had seen a Patronus from Hogwarts. After a quick conference, it was decided Firenze and all the searchers should return immediately, save for Ronan and a half-dozen of his kin.

"Circle toward the Forest's centre," Ronan instructed his centaurs. _Perhaps we'll find some sign of our missing kin._

He was in mid-stride when he felt the Interdiction vanish—so suddenly he stumbled, expecting force and encountering nothing but air. As he straightened he felt something else deep in his bones, a terrible sadness as if something great and good had passed away from this earth. A strange, cold wind clattered the branches of the oaks and skirled dead leaves around their dark trunks, while the centaurs looked uneasily around, nostrils flaring.

Without warning, sunlight erupted from behind a cloud and shafted through the thick trees, blazing a golden path straight toward the heart of the Forest.

* * *

The centaurs slowed to a trot, then to a cautious walk as they approached the clearing where the great, gnarled oak cast its twilit shadow. Here, even the newly brilliant sun could barely penetrate the gloom. Lazarus the grey-beard had taken the lead. Now he flung up an arm and the centaurs halted.

"Something waits for us."

Athene's fair face contorted. "The evil that took the children?"

"That took our kin?" spat another centaur, his black beard bristling.

Lazarus shook his head. "Not that. Something I cannot describe."

"Follow me," said Ronan, his hand going to the knife in its leather waist-pouch. He entered the clearing cautiously, then stopped, hooves digging into the dirt. Sprawled randomly around the oak's enormous girth lay at least a dozen centaurs. Their eyes were closed; their noble faces blank, peaceful.

After a shocked silence, Lazarus whispered, "Our missing kin."

"Are they alive?" cried Ronan. "Quickly!" The centaurs rushed over to their kin, and in moments their voices were ringing through the clearing: "They live. They live! Wake, Mellor! Come back to us, Amaris!"

One by one the missing kin began to stir. A brown-haired centaur was first to push himself upright. As he stared around, eyes blank and puzzled, Ronan put his hands on the centaur's shoulders.

"Caius. Where were you?"

The centaur shook his head.

"What do you remember?" Ronan persisted.

"A scarlet glow," said Caius in a low voice. "It pulsed like a beating heart. I remember a black hunt. And I remember—light." Wonder crept into his eyes. "Light too brilliant to bear. But so beautiful."

Athene suddenly cried out, "To me! Now!" She had begun to circle the great oak. Now she froze halfway around it, her gaze fixed on the ground.

In a leap Ronan joined her. He let out an astonished oath as he saw the two bodies lying a few feet from the great black gap in the oak's trunk. Two human bodies. He stooped to examine the young woman lying face down, a scuffed rucksack half off her shoulders, brown bushy hair in filthy tangles. Gently he touched her neck, felt the weak pulsing of a vein.

"This one lives," he said. "Athene—will you bear her to Hogwarts?"

As soon as Athene had sprung away with her burden, Ronan turned to the other body. The man lay face up, long black coat bunched around his torso, half-opened eyes gazing dully upward through lank hair. Lazarus bent down over him.

"Is he dead?" said Ronan.

A pause. "No pulse. No breath," said Lazarus. He closed the man's eyes with a gentle hand. "It is an uncanny resemblance," he added.

"Uncanny," said Ronan as Lazarus gathered up the body and secured it to Ronan's back. By now all the newly awakened kin had gained their feet. Stamping restlessly, casting nervous glances over their shoulders, it seemed the centaurs couldn't move out of the clearing fast enough, even though the sun had finally begun to penetrate the gloom.

Ronan was last to leave the heart of the Forbidden Forest. Behind him, sunlight poured through the twisted branches and crept across the body on his back.

The dead man opened his eyes.

* * *

 **Note:** For many reasons, this chapter was a challenge to write. Thank you for reading, and comments are always welcome! Chapter 22, "Death and Life," will be posted September 27.


	23. Chapter 22--Death and Life

**Chapter Twenty-Two: "** **Death and life** **"**

Hidden by a deflection charm, the man in black waited as morning mist dissolved over the sparkling lake. The sun emerged, its slanting autumn light striking the great marble table on the shore so it glowed a brilliant white. Rows of chairs faced the table, an aisle in the middle. Minute by slow minute, the chairs filled with people. One of them was Poppy Pomfrey: her exemplary care and utter discretion an unexpected source of comfort during his difficult recovery. His lip curled as he recognized the red-head in the front row. Weasley. The ex-husband. Still, when he'd heard the young man had survived his terrible, accidental fall through the gateway, the news had come as a relief.

Beside Weasley sat a young woman whose bright head rested on the shoulder of someone whose face disturbed him greatly: Harry Potter. Shards of memory began to prick his mind, and using all his discipline he deflected them—for now. But he knew he would have to face Potter. It was inevitable.

The last chair had been taken. Utter silence fell. In ones and twos, centaurs emerged from the nearby trees and took up positions behind the chairs. Then the centaurs began to sing: first a single poignant voice, then a deep chorus that rose chillingly above the mourners and rolled out over the still lake. As distant heads bowed, the watcher too closed his eyes, fighting once again to stop himself from sinking beneath the weight of the damage he had done: the grief and loss he had caused by carrying out Vinata's will.

The singing quieted, and he opened his eyes to see an enormous figure emerging from behind the centaurs: Hagrid, moving slowly, carrying something wrapped in purple. He knew it was Minerva McGonagall's body. Step by step the half-giant moved down the aisle, and even from his distant vantage-point the watcher could see tears streaking that homely, grey-bearded face. At last Hagrid reached the great marble table and with infinite gentleness placed his burden down. As he stepped back, bowing his head, the centaurs' chorus again crescendoed. As their mighty song reverberated off the lake's still waters, soaring above the towers of Hogwarts into the pale October sky, a golden light suffused the purple-draped body on the table. The light grew brighter, so bright the mourners had to look away, hands shielding their eyes. So perhaps only the distant watcher saw what appeared to be a rainbow that sprang from the light and arced above the mourners, rising into the pristine sky almost as if in triumph. As he drew in a sharp breath at the sight, the golden light around the body swelled into such unbearable brilliance that even he had to close his eyes.

When at last he opened them, the body had vanished from the table. The funeral of Minerva McGonagall was over. As the mourners began to stir and murmur, their voices subdued, the man in black knew he could turn and leave now, leave as silently as he'd arrived, no one the wiser. Leave Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, even the entire Wizarding World, and take up some quiet Muggle existence. What stood in his way? Besides the centaurs Ronan and Firenze, only Poppy Pomfrey and Aurora Sinistra, now acting headmistress, knew Severus Snape was alive and well. None would betray his confidence. Pomfrey had even offered to be his Secret-Keeper, but he had declined, not wanting to compromise her.

Weasley, and now surely Potter, knew Snape hadn't died ten years ago in the Shrieking Shack. But they had no way of knowing the ex-potions master was still alive.

Nor did Hermione.

Which was why he couldn't leave yet. Not because of his feelings for Hermione or the agony he knew he'd face without her. At first he'd put the strange, utterly unexpected attraction between them down to desperation and the bonding effects of the water they had shared. The water was gone now, all gone, its origin forever locked within the mind of the last Naga (and if God or whoever created the multiverse had any mercy, Vinata was dead). While imprisoned in the Naga's realm, he'd understood that any real feelings he might have were forever tainted by the slime of Vinata's touch. That he couldn't love or be loved, not after what he'd done.

But here, now—newly resurrected and bathed in the sunlight of his own bright realm—Severus Snape knew he'd been fooling himself. Hermione was a part of him: the pulse of his heart, the light of his soul . . . now and forever.

But he didn't deserve that love. Yes: he'd saved Hermione, but in doing so he'd used her, manipulated her, put her at terrible risk. Could she forgive him that? And even if she could, what if Vinata wasn't dead? The snake would pursue him, that he knew. If he were selfish enough to keep Hermione close (as he desperately wanted, beyond all yearning), Vinata would come after _her_. He couldn't chance that.

Still, he couldn't leave. Not yet. He owed Hermione a debt: the knowledge and the assurance that she had saved his life. He owed her the right to live without guilt. When evoking his Life Path, Pomfrey had detected faint vestiges of a Killing Curse attack. When she'd broken that news to Severus, to her bafflement he had laughed long and bitterly, for he already knew his dying plea to Hermione in the gateway had worked. It was a faint chance at best that the curse would undergo a quantum shift. But it had: in the liminal space of the gateway with the laws of both universes ebbing and flowing, the Killing Curse had turned on itself, transforming his death into new life.

Not only that, but Hermione's power had transformed _him_ at the quantum level. He had completely re-adapted to his home universe. It was beyond ironic that Severus Snape, who was supposed to be dead, could now live permanently in the Wizarding World with no ill effects.

Hermione had to know she had saved him . . . but he shuddered to think what might happen if he faced her. She was seriously ill, struggling through what Pomfrey had hinted would be a long recovery at St. Mungo's. The shock of seeing him might undo her.

Or would it? Perhaps it was _he_ who would be undone.

He had considered sending a message through Pomfrey: a note to say she had saved his life, but for her own safety he couldn't see her. Deep down, though, he knew Hermione would never believe or accept a note. He needed an emissary: someone able to visit Hermione without being questioned. Someone she trusted without reservation. An old friend.

Not Weasley.

Snape turned his gaze back to the mourners, now milling around with glasses and plates. Harry Potter stood near the middle of the throng, a straight, slight figure with one arm protectively around his red-headed wife. Then Potter looked up, and for a moment it seemed he stared straight at Snape.

The ex-potions master turned away and in a swirl of silent wind, Disapparated.

* * *

"Bloody hell." Ron stared deep into his half empty pint. "It still doesn't feel—real."

"I know," said Ginny. "I can't imagine what Hogwarts will be like without her." She was tucked between her brother and Harry on a low bench in The Hog's Head, their backs against a centuries-old wooden wall scored with the wand-blasted initials of countless Aurors. The place was still somewhat empty, but it wouldn't be long before it filled and glasses were raised in Minerva McGonagall's honour.

"Well, yeah," said Ron. He shifted uncomfortably. "But I was thinking more about . . . what it's like being back here. Instead of back there. I look around and can't believe how—normal everything is."

Harry cleared his throat, thinking about the evenings he and Ginny had spent trying to make sense of what Ron had said about his abduction. Ron couldn't remember much: sickness and vertigo, trees luminous with unearthly light, a woman's coldly beautiful face, Hagrid's monstrous doppelgänger pursuing him down an endless corridor . . . and a man in black who looked, sounded, and acted exactly like their dead potions master. Had that man survived? Ron had no idea, but this he did remember: that man had somehow compelled Hermione to him, exerting a strange attraction over her, making her act as if (and here, Ron had swallowed hard) as if she loved him. Ginny had quickly decided the man couldn't have been Snape; no woman—not even a bewitched one—could be attracted to someone so fundamentally repulsive. But Harry had looked at Ron and knew he, too, was thinking about what they had both seen on the Marauder's Map, about the name that had flickered in and out of existence in the old potions classroom.

"The man you saw is dead, mate," Harry had told Ron quietly. "Whether he died ten years ago or back in that place you and Hermione ended up in, he's gone. But Hermione'll get better. She just needs more time."

"She's not coming back to The Burrow," said Ron. But instead of the anger Harry expected, he gave a sigh and a shrug. "Probably best that way. We—I guess we should never have gotten married. We were friends before, and we stopped being friends after. All we did was fight." He looked appealingly at Harry and Ginny. "I dunno if there's any chance we'll be friends again someday."

Harry hadn't known quite what to say about that, but when the three of them had visited St. Mungo's (Ginny too; she'd insisted), a weak and tearful Hermione hugged Ron hard. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I pushed you. I didn't mean it," she'd babbled, words that meant nothing to Harry. But when Ron told her it was all right, she didn't need to worry and he was fine, Harry sensed that his two oldest friends were no longer enemies. Well. At least that was a step.

Yet though Harry tried to stay cheerful during that visit, he found Hermione's state deeply shocking. She looked ravaged, her eyes dull, her movements lethargic—as if some invisible force were leeching her of energy. The only time she brightened was when Ginny described how she, Harry, Ron, and the Aurors had fought back against the perversions invading the old potions classroom. "Opposite spells?" said Hermione. "Without chaotic backlash?" Suddenly words flowed out as if she couldn't stop talking. The tunnel's contact with a bright realm must have enabled predictable quantum effects. Particles had become waves and waves, particles. Charms became curses; curses became charms if a bright universe was near enough to offset the chaos of a dark one. It made sense! It explained so much! It even accounted for the time disparity between the realms!

Some of this word-salad had reminded Harry of the strange hints Hermione had dropped during their pub meetings. The other two listened with puzzled frowns. Then Hermione's voice grew hoarse; her eyes feverish, and at last Ginny silenced her with a hug. Over Hermione's thin shoulder she met Harry's concerned gaze with a warning look that said all too clearly: _Don't breathe a word about McGonagall_.

Now a group of Aurors shouldered their way into the Hog, all loud voices and brittle laughter. As they took over a huge wooden table, Harry recognized Khonsu, Sekhmet's second-in-command. As if sensing Harry's gaze, the thin, dark Auror looked at him, then to Harry's surprise gave him a slow, respectful nod before sitting down with his mates. So much for his former contempt. But so much had changed in the week since they had fought side-by-side with Sekhmet and her Aurors in the old potions classroom. And as this rowdy crowd reminded him, the battle's aftermath hadn't been all horror and grief. Harry's lips twitched in a smile as he remembered one astonishing scene outside the classroom: a house-elf named Tilly, wearing a red knitted hat, clutching with shaking hands a cast-iron frying pan almost as big as she was. Sprawled at her feet were two grey, slimy things that looked like slugs with legs.

Ginny had immediately offered Tilly a position.

Then with great tenderness, Hagrid had borne the mauled bodies of Stan and Alice out of the potions classroom. As the Aurors covered them with their own cloaks, Harry and Ginny learned the two dead Aurors had been father and daughter. They had worked together as Aurors for only a year.

Ginny had taken that news hard.

As the Aurors settled in and loudly ordered pints, Harry squeezed Ginny's hand. She looked at him with a sad smile.

"Harry Potter," came a soft voice to his left. Startled, Harry glanced up to see Poppy Pomfrey beside their table. She was swathed in a thick cloak, her face tight with some emotion he couldn't place.

"Uh. . ." Harry groped for words. The Hog was the last place he would have expected to see the dignified matron. "Would you like to join us?"

Pomfrey shook her head. "No, thank you." She took a deep breath. "Someone I know needs to see you." Her voice lowered. "In private. He's asked me to bring you to him."

Harry frowned. "I don't understand."

Pomfrey nodded toward a low hall. Harry followed her gaze to a dark doorway, half hidden in shadow. "Give me a few moments," she murmured, "then follow me. Discreetly, please."

"Wait," began Harry, but she slipped away. As he stared after her, Ginny put her mouth to his ear. "What's going on?" she whispered. "Why was she being so mysterious?"

Harry took a low, considering sip of his beer. "I guess I'll find out."

"By yourself?" said Ron. "That doesn't sound too brilliant."

"Better than all three of us leaving at once. Which would look odd." Harry got to this feet and squeezed Ginny's hand. "Don't worry. I'll make this quick." Weaving deftly past a house-elf carrying a tray full of foaming pints, he entered the low hall and stopped, baffled. The doorway had vanished. He thought for a moment, then knocked on the wall where he'd seen it earlier. The faint outline of a door emerged and grew instantly solid. Then it cracked open, and Harry saw a thin sliver of firelight.

"Mr Potter?" came Pomfrey's voice. "Yeah," he said softly. The door opened just wide enough for him to slip inside, then closed behind him with a soft click as he swiftly took in the room. Two armchairs near the fireplace and a small table between them almost filled the tiny space. Someone sat in one of the armchairs—a shapeless, hooded figure—and for a brief, horrible moment Harry was reminded of a Dementor. Almost without thought he reached for his wand, but Pomfrey touched his arm.

"It's all right, Harry," she said softly. "Please sit."

Letting out a silent breath, Harry moved toward the empty chair. He sensed a gathering tension—not danger, but something uncanny that raised the hairs on his arms. As he sat, he saw the figure was a man, disguised not by a wizard's cloak but a dark hooded jacket. He wore faded denims and black ankle-high boots with thick laces. The firelight traced the sharp tip of a nose beneath the hood, and even though the face and eyes were hidden, Harry sensed a keen, unrelenting scrutiny.

Harry leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Who are you? And what's this about?"

Without a word, the figure raised both hands and pushed back the hood. Firelight flickered over the pale face, shadowed the cheekbones, picked out the lines bracketing the harsh mouth.

"You," Harry said at last, almost in a whisper. Yet even in his shock he felt little surprise, as if part of him knew this moment would come. The Map had warned him.

"Harry Potter." The voice was the same: low, velvety, laced with menace. Harry had dreaded that voice since almost his first day at Hogwarts. He swallowed, still unable to speak.

"Thank you for seeing me." The harsh mouth quirked. "And I apologize for the drama. But I'm sure you can understand my need for complete secrecy." The voice lost its menace and took on a sadness Harry could never have imagined in all the bitter years of his past association with this man. But now he could. He could.

"What—" Harry cleared his throat. "What happened to you?"

"The centaurs found me in the Forest, at the same time as—" Snape hesitated "—as Hermione Granger. They thought I was dead, at first." He nodded at the matron. "I was put under Madam Pomfrey's care."

"Severus asked me to bring him to you." Pomfrey hesitated a beat. "We both agreed you might need to be convinced that he is who he says he is."

"Are _you_ convinced?" said Harry.

"I've tended him every day. I have no doubt," she said with dignity.

"And he's sane?" Harry threw at her harshly. "Not a danger to anyone?"

Snape's face was like stone, but Pomfrey's jaw tightened. "He's been traumatized beyond most people's ability to bear," she snapped. "But he's as sane as you or I. I'll vouch for that."

Harry stared at the matron a long moment. Her stern gaze didn't waver.

"I'll hear what he has to say," he said at last.

Pomfrey flicked a glance at Snape, who nodded. She slipped out the door, leaving the two men alone.

Harry let out a long, slow breath. "You're here for your memories, aren't you. You want them back."

As Snape stared at him, his expression appalled, Harry ploughed on. "You gave them to me before you—you died. Remember? Or maybe you don't. But I know you didn't betray us ten years ago. And I know—we know you didn't murder Professor Dumbledore."

Snape threw up a hand. "Don't say any more." His voice harshened. "I don't want to know. I don't want to remember."

Harry's mouth opened, then closed. He took a steadying breath and waited as Snape stared down at his own clenched fingers.

At last Snape said, "When I died, my body was stolen. Taken to a place whose laws are alien to ours. There, I was forced back to life. Forced to serve." He met Harry's eyes. "I did abduct those students. It does not exonerate me that I had to do so, or that I tried to minimize their pain and trauma." He leaned forward, eyes glittering, and Harry forced himself to meet that black glare. "So believe me when I say the _last_ thing I want is to resurrect the past."

"Then why are you here?"

To Harry's astonishment, Snape looked uncertain.

"I . . . need you to bear a message for me."

"A message," repeated Harry. It was the last thing he'd expected.

"A message. To St. Mungo's." Snape hesitated. "To Ms Granger. She—she needs to know I'm alive." The white fingers clenched again. "More to the point, she saved my life."

Snape's face was nothing like stone, Harry realized. It was the face of someone struggling to suppress feelings too strong for release. Feelings beyond gratitude. Beyond a sense of debt or obligation.

Feelings . . . for Hermione?

As he gazed with shock and pity into the eyes he'd once loathed, Harry felt a strange chill. The potions master's relinquished memories had given Harry a painful, blow by blow understanding of Snape's terrible sacrifice and his astonishing depths of courage. He had more than earned his redemption. And why the former potions master didn't want to claim that legacy, Harry still couldn't imagine. Yet Harry somehow knew that for Hermione, even the mention of Snape could be dangerous. She was still so weak, so profoundly sad. When he'd seen her at St. Mungo's, it was as if the living core of her had been hollowed out.

As if her heart had been broken.

No. The thought was ridiculous. It had to be that Hermione felt responsible for Snape. In which case, it might help her to know Snape was alive. It might possibly speed her healing.

But Harry couldn't take that message. It wasn't his torch to bear.

He took a deep breath.

"If you know Hermione at all," he said with great care, "then you know she'll need proof."

"I realize that," Snape said, his voice almost a growl. He reached inside his jacket and took out a small, thick envelope which he handed to Harry. H. Granger was written across the front in spidery script, and the flap was secured with a plain seal of green wax. "She'll no doubt remember my handwriting. As well, the letter mentions . . . things only she would know." His voice softened a fraction. "Take this to her. Please."

There was silence as the two men stared at each other. At last Harry shook his head, and Snape's face darkened.

"You won't do it?" he said, his voice dangerously low.

"I didn't say that." Harry stood up. "Whatever happened with you and Hermione, I can't sort it. A letter can't sort it. Only _you_ can. In person."

As Snape's eyes widened, Harry added, "With my help."

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you FrancineHibiscus, dmeb, Flye Autumn, and RhodaBush for your encouraging comments! The end is now in sight with two more uploads to come. Chapter Twenty-Three, "Veritas," will be posted October 1.


	24. Chapter 23--Veritas

**Chapter Twenty-Three: "Veritas"**

For hours after McGonagall's funeral, echoes of the centaurs' mourning song wound slow pathways through the Forbidden Forest. But as the sun sank into the molten west and twilight crept down the twisted trunks and outstretched branches, the kin ceased their patrols, their supervision of the Forest's denizens, and their song, and withdrew for the night. Near the heart of the Forest, though, the last rays of sunlight picked out nobly bearded heads, one silver-blond and one russet red, as Firenze and Ronan patrolled in opposite directions around and around the edge of the clearing where the great oak brooded. They passed each other six times without stopping or speaking. As they approached each other the seventh time, Ronan at last called a halt. One hand on his knife, a front hoof pawing the ground, he frowned at his once-estranged kinsman.

"Nothing. Only a faint stench—like the aftermath of evil. Not like the oak grove, when the two children were returned. Or when blackness appeared in the sky above the grove and spat Weasley out like poison."

"Something _is_ here," said Firenze, his voice low. "More than a faint stench, as you put it." He turned suddenly toward the oak. Twilight was creeping across its enormous girth, and the opening at its roots gaped black. "Did you see that?"

"What?" said Ronan.

"Inside the hollow. A flickering."

Step by step the centaurs approached the tree. In a soft sing-song, Firenze murmured words more ancient than wizardly magic. A shiver ran through the great, brooding oak, and then it seemed to freeze as if trapped in a bubble of time. Firenze laid his palm against the rough bark and nodded.

"The oak sleeps—for a little while."

From a long looped belt that spanned both horse's body and human torso, Firenze extracted a staff of polished oak twice the length of his arm. Gripping it with both hands, he pointed it at the tree's black hollow. Ronan took a battle stance slightly behind his elder cousin, his knife gleaming in the dim light. For a moment neither moved. The entire Forest seemed to fall silent.

Then Firenze surged forward and thrust the staff deep into the hollow. From the blackness a thin, terrible shriek burst forth, and something shadowy writhed and thrashed. "Beware!" cried Ronan, manoeuvring closer to the tree as Firenze braced himself to hold the staff steady.

"Come out," he thundered. "Come out and face us!" With an effort that made his powerful arms tremble, the centaur hauled on his staff, and into the light of the dying sun emerged a great dull-green snake, thick as a child's waist, twisting and writhing around the end of the staff. Yellow eyes blazing with rage, it raised its flat ugly head and hissed, baring needle-sharp fangs. Yet it made no attempt to lunge at Firenze—as if the staff both compelled and controlled it.

"If you had told me one of the Naga yet lived, I would not have believed you," said the elder centaur, his voice calm but underlain with tension.

"It's wholly evil, cousin. We must destroy it." Ronan raised his knife high for a killing throw.

"No." With a thrust of his staff, Firenze forced the snake back into the hollow. "See? It weakens. It can no longer hunt what it needs."

"Let it starve?" said Ronan with a grimace. "A more merciful death than this thing deserves."

The elder centaur shook his head. "Perhaps. But in the younger days of the universe the Naga were as beautiful as they were wise. The degradation of their race is a tragedy for us all—their story a warning we are wise to heed."

In silence, the centaurs watched as the snake thrashed uselessly around and around the end of the oaken staff.

* * *

Hermione understood that her tiny room at St. Mungo's was meant to be as pleasant as possible. Far enough from the James Thickey Ward to provide some privacy, it had a tall, thin window, so for a few hours each day she could watch tepid sunlight inch across the polished wood floor. The bed wasn't too lumpy, but the quilt was an obnoxious robin's egg blue, an attempt to add a cheerful note. Hermione didn't mind the small writing desk; it was a handy place to keep the Muggle mysteries and romances her parents had brought. She couldn't bear the romances, but the mysteries relaxed her, helped her sleep.

What Hermione truly disliked were the stack of paper and a Quick-Quotes Quill that had come with the writing desk. After three days, when she was strong enough to get out of bed and walk around a bit, Healer Trickett encouraged her to write down her thoughts and feelings. She tried. She managed a few lines about how she'd broken past McGonagall's Interdiction to enter the Forbidden Forest. But as her mind began spiralling down into darkness, to images she didn't want to remember and emotions she didn't want to feel, she stopped writing. The Healer noticed and commented, but Hermione shook her head. "All right," said the Healer. "Then why not talk to me? Just a chat. Anything that comes to mind."

"Maybe," said Hermione. "Just—not now."

But Healer Trickett didn't take away the stack of papers and quill. They sat there like a reproach.

On the fourth day, a matron told Hermione some friends wanted to see her, and her heart gave a great leap before she remembered the only person who really mattered was dead. She shrugged. "All right." It didn't matter to her.

It was Harry—and to her astonishment Ginny. Harry hugged her tight, and Hermione's ex-sister-in-law held her hands, eyes brimming with tears and forgiveness. And then a third person filled the doorway. Hermione froze, her mind assaulted with flashbacks of a window high above thrashing trees, a man falling through . . . a terrible scream. But here he was: Ron—a bit pale, smiling crookedly, very much alive. Hermione burst into tears. Yet the moment she hugged him, overwhelmed with relief, she knew she didn't love him the way a wife was supposed to love a husband. Never had, and never would. And when she drew back and looked at Ron, the sadness in his eyes told her he knew it as well.

Still, Hermione felt lighter knowing Ron was alive and didn't hate her. That Harry hadn't abandoned her and Ginny had forgiven her. When Healer Trickett came by later, Hermione talked for the first time about the painful arc of her marriage. As the Healer listened, she conjured Hermione's Life Path and carefully stitched one of its dull, ragged lines into a glowing whole.

But when the Healer asked Hermione if she wanted to talk about anything else, she shook her head.

On the sixth day her parents seemed subdued during their visit, as if they were trying to avoid a sensitive topic. "What's going on?" Hermione demanded at last. "Nothing," her mother said too quickly. But that afternoon, while walking up and down the dim hallway for exercise, Hermione overheard two matrons coming out of the Janus Thickey Ward. They were talking in low voices about "the funeral."

Though forbidden to exert herself by using magic, Hermione used an eavesdropping charm.

That evening she refused food. When Healer Trickett came by, she was sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around her knees. At length it became clear to Trickett that Hermione was blaming herself for McGonagall's death. Yes—everyone said the elderly witch died of a massive stroke after performing a spell of heroic proportions. But Hermione had been the one who opened the gateway into the Wizarding World. She had let loose the horrors that McGonagall had fought. Therefore, she was responsible for McGonagall's death. It was a horribly simple equation. As her voice choked on sobs, Trickett suddenly dropped her pose of compassionate listening.

"This is not taking responsibility, Hermione. If you choose to blame yourself for all the griefs of this world, that's pure self indulgence. That's a choice not to move on with your life, in which case there's little I can do for you. With all your talents, with all you have to offer . . . is that what you really want?" Trickett paused, then added more gently, "You can't take Minerva McGonagall's death on yourself, Hermione. That's not your burden."

Silence. Hermione stared down at her clasped hands. At last Trickett said, "Get some rest. I'll be back in the morning."

The evening ticked by. Hermione was still sitting up in bed, hands still clasped and tears streaking her face, when a shadow darkened the half-open doorway. She paid no attention at first, thinking it must be a matron. But the shadow didn't move—as if someone were hovering, unsure whether to stay or leave.

"Go away!" she said loudly.

The shadow spoke. "Hermione?"—and Harry slipped into the room. He wore black from head to toe: knitted cap, leather jacket, jeans, boots. He looked like a Muggle burglar.

Hermione sat up bolt upright. "Harry! What are you doing here?" She scrubbed her cheeks with her pajama sleeves, though she knew he'd noticed the tears. "It's past visiting hours," she added, trying to sound stern.

Harry smiled crookedly. "Trust you to remind me about the rules." As he moved closer to the bed, ignoring the two hard little visitors' chairs, Hermione sensed his tension and immediately understood why he had come.

"I know about Professor McGonagall," she said. "I know her funeral was today. And I know—" Grief squeezed her throat and chest. "I know," she said in a whisper, "that if I hadn't gone into the Forest, that if I hadn't opened—opened . . ."

Out in the dark hall another shadow stirred, and suddenly Hermione saw a face—pale, eyes burning darkly, a thin slash of a mouth. A face she had tried with every ounce of her strength not to think about. Oh, Merlin. She was hallucinating. Her tears spilled again. At the look of pain and pity in Harry's eyes, she hid her face in her hands.

* * *

Out in the dark hallway at St. Mungo's, swathed in Potter's invisibility cloak, Severus Snape could barely breathe as he watched Hermione Granger. She looked shattered, frailer than he'd ever seen her, as she wiped tears from her pale cheeks and tried to smile at her visitor. Then her gaze slipped past Potter, past the doorway, and she was staring right at Severus, her expression laced with horror. He stared back, stunned, before realizing he'd let slip the cloak just enough to expose his face. With a whispered curse he yanked at the gossamer fabric.

Hermione's expression crumpled, and she hid her face in her hands.

Potter stood there for a moment, and Severus wondered if would try and comfort her. Instead he said, "I have someone with me. Someone you need to see," and he turned toward the doorway, to Severus. "Come in," he said, his voice low and urgent. "Quickly."

For a breath or two Severus considered not going in. Considered leaving, vanishing into the gathering twilight of the dreary street. Just letting Hermione Granger be. But that was cowardice. He had to face her, accept her unforgiving rage for what he'd made her do.

The tiny room closed around him. Severus heard Potter shut the door. Hermione's face was still buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking. He stood there, looking at her. With an almost impatient sound, Potter reached over and pulled the invisibility cloak away from Severus. He quickly bundled it into his small black rucksack, then he put a hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"He's here," he said gently.

"Tell him to go away."

"Hermione . . . "

She pulled away, shaking her head. "I don't need—another— _healer_!"

"I'm not," Severus heard himself say, "another healer."

Slowly Hermione lowered her hands. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and hope battled disbelief on her strained face.

"It can't be," she whispered. "I'm hearing things."

Despite everything, his lips twitched in a smile. "No, you're not."

"This isn't real."

"Oh for _fuck's_ sake, Granger—open your eyes!"

* * *

Harry knew he should leave, but he couldn't stop looking at Hermione's face as she stared at the dead potions master: at the way her expression shifted from shock to disbelief, to incredulous hope, then a strange blend of relief and rage so raw, so intimate he finally had to look away, feeling almost as if he'd intruded on a couple making love.

"I didn't know he was alive till today," Harry said at last, though never had words seemed so inadequate. He couldn't see Snape's expression, but he felt the man's tension vibrating from the stiff-set shoulders, the fingers clenched at his sides.

Hermione took a long, shaky breath. "I—used the Killing Curse." Her voice sounded choked.

"You saved my life." Snape's voice was low, gentler than Harry had ever heard. "And made it possible for me to live in this universe again. But . . ." his breath caught raggedly for a moment. "I can never—I can't express—how sorry I am for asking such a thing. What that must have taken from you . . ."

Silence, while Hermione stared at him. "Where were you?" she whispered. "I thought you were dead. Why didn't you come?"

Snape reached inside his black leather jacket and took out the letter. "I wrote this to explain." He held the letter out to Hermione, and Harry noticed his fingers trembling slightly.

Hermione's expression was stony—or perhaps it was shock. Harry couldn't tell. He couldn't see Snape's face; only his sharp profile.

"Were you actually under the impression," she said at last, "that you could get away with writing a fucking _letter_?"

Snape made a strange sound—a bit like a chuckle. At that moment Hermione's expression shifted into something Harry recognized. He'd seen it on Ginny more than once, just at the moment when a quarrel between them was about to morph into . . . not a quarrel.

No. Not possible. He couldn't imagine that.

Still, he was beginning to feel like a fifth wheel. "I'll be outside," he said gruffly, turning toward the door.

Neither tried to stop him.

* * *

Harry had been alone for perhaps about ten minutes, sitting on the polished wooden floor near the Janus Thickey Ward yet hidden deeper than a shadow behind the invisibility cloak, trying not to imagine what might be going on in Hermione's little room. Suddenly a wedge of golden light spilled into the hallway. Harry shot to his feet as the door to Hermione's room closed again. A moment later the black-clad form of Severus Snape loomed up, his pale face expressionless.

"Thank you, Potter." The thin mouth shut like a trap.

Harry half-turned toward Hermione's door, but Snape gripped his arm as a low murmuring of voices echoed far down the hall. Wand-light flickered, drawing closer.

Harry threw part of his cloak over Snape, and silent as smoke, they were gone.

* * *

Hermione sat, hands clasped around her knees, chin raised and thoughts sizzling. She hadn't killed Severus Snape. She'd saved his life. _He was alive._ For the dozenth time she scanned his letter, the single thick sheet of paper filled on both sides with the spidery handwriting she'd once associated with Snape's scalding attempts to find fault on her potions assignments. Sentences leapt out at her: " _The Naga's poison is always fatal. Nothing can cure it. Dittany merely delays the inevitable. I thought my only hope was the Killing Curse: a merciful delivery from terrible pain, or a faint hope that the forces of the gateway would give rise to an opposite effect. But I asked far too much of you. It was far too great a burden. For that, I am truly sorry._ "

Severus had repeated the apology even as she read it, even as her gaze kept leaping to his face in stunned disbelief to see him there, in front of her, alive. At last she'd said, _Did you know the Curse could have the opposite effect?_ _Only the faintest hope_ , he had said softly. _The remotest chance_. He had shaken his head. _Forgive me . . .it's difficult enough for me to accept. I can't imagine what this must be like for you._

All that time he'd stood two or three feet away, his black eyes curiously watchful. She had wanted him to come closer, needed to touch him, to know for certain he was there. At last she held out her hand, a wordless plea. He had stared at that hand for all the world as if it were a foreign object. Then, slowly, he reached toward her to touch the tips of her fingers, and Hermione closed her eyes as the truth of his warm, living touch shocked through her.

"I can't stay," he'd whispered.

"But you'll come back," she said.

" _Vinata_." Her eyes flew open at the coldness in his voice. "She may still be alive. If she is . . ." His hand slipped away from hers. "If she is, I can't be near you. I can't put you in danger."

Hermione had opened her mouth to protest the outrageous assumption that she would be safe if he stayed away. Before she could speak, Severus's hand cupped her face. She reached for him, but his hand dropped away.

Her door opened with a whisper of cool air. He was gone.

* * *

The narrow, noisome lane that ran behind St. Mungo's was sullen with damp and the passing of ages. The only object was a battered bin, under which from time to time rats flowed like running ink. It was unlikely any binner would have noticed the small, black door at the back of the hospital—a door so old and cracked it looked as if it hadn't been used since the Great Fire of London. Without warning the door gaped open in silence, and with a faint "pop" of displaced air, two black-clad men appeared in the lane. As the door swung closed, the younger man stuffed a great swathe of gossamer fabric into his rucksack while the older man, with a grim frown, crossed black-leather arms over his chest.

Finished with the cloak, Harry turned to look at Snape.

"What are you going to do now?"

Snape met Harry's gaze, lip curling. "I'm certainly not planning to re-introduce myself to the Wizarding World."

"Yet you could," said Harry carefully.

"Why? I'm not the person they think I am. That person is dead."

"And what about Hermione?"

Snape turned away to fix his gaze on the bin.

Harry sighed. Then he reached into one of his utility pockets and drew out a leathery looking bag the size of a beer bottle, held shut with a drawstring. He offered it to Snape. "These belong to you."

Snape frowned. "What is it?"

"You gave them to me ten years ago," said Harry softly.

Snape's eyes darkened. He stared at the bag as if it were full of poison. "I don't want them."

"They're yours, Snape. I don't have the right to keep them. They're not all—bad," he added a bit lamely.

"If I reclaim those memories," said Snape, "they will change me. Utterly."

Silence, except for the soft skittering of rats. Harry held out the bag. At last, slowly, the ex-potions master reached out and took it gingerly by the drawstring.

Harry stepped back. "One more thing. Whatever it is between you and Hermione—"

"—is none of your bloody business, Potter." Snape paused, then said gruffly, "I owe her my life. Rest assured she'll never come to harm because of me."

Harry looked hard at Snape, who stared back.

"Right," said Harry. A moment later he Disapparated, leaving the older man alone in the dark lane.

Another rat or two had flowed under the nearby bin before Snape at last opened the leather bag. He drew out a silver phial and looked at it, turning it around and around with his fingers.

* * *

Deepest night. Hermione had spent hours staring sleeplessly at a lamp, her heart full of the ringing truth that Severus lived. That she had done what even the Philosopher's Stone could not: turned death into life. She found herself considering the Killing Curse. Unforgivables were fuelled by dark emotions: rage and fear, horror and hate. But when she'd uttered that curse, she'd been unable to feel anything but love: a power greater than all rage and horror and hate. Trapped between the dark, dying force of Vinata's realm and the bright energy of the Wizarding universe, the curse had stitched a life-path whole instead of ripping it asunder.

She felt that power still, would feel it until the day she died. She loved this strange, bitter, difficult man, loved him with every erg of her life and being. It had begun in the hollow tree with that shattering kiss, strengthened in the grove of glowing trees, and taken final shape in that shimmering moment of stasis in Vinata's tower, when the barriers between their souls had vanished.

Even as tears scalded her face, she raised her head again defiantly. Severus Snape had left her—not because he didn't love her, and not because he feared for his life. Because he feared for _hers_. But whether Vinata was alive or dead, Hermione was damned if she was going to let Severus go. Damned if she'd just accept that.

No time to waste. She had to get out of St. Mungo's.

* * *

 **Note:** Thank you for reading and reviewing! Chapter 24, "Meeting at the tombs," will be posted on October 4.


	25. Chapter 24--Meeting at the tombs

**Chapter Twenty-Four: "Meeting at the tombs"**

Dawn's light moved down the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and crept, as if reluctantly, into the clearing at the Forest's heart, where one great oak cast a deep twilight. Two centaurs, their forms almost invisible in the gloom, stood guard near the tree's black hollow. The silence was profound . . . until a breeze skirled along the ground, picking up dead autumn leaves. The centaurs tensed: one hefted an oaken staff, the other raised his bow.

With a pop of air, a man Apparated into the clearing. He wore a black leather jacket and black jeans. His long hair, tied neatly back, framed a face that looked pale and drawn, as if he'd recently been ill—or through hell. He stood still for a moment as the breeze died, hands loosely at his sides, letting the two centaurs approach: one white-blond, the other brown-haired.

"She's here," Severus Snape said at last.

Firenze bowed his head. "Yes. But she will cause no more harm."

"She cannot feed," said Caius, his expression like stone. "She's dying."

Severus glanced at the hollow. Nothing moved within that blackness.

"The decision was made," said Firenze, "to let nature take its course."

"A merciful decision," said Caius, his tone neutral. Severus looked at him sharply.

"You were one of the missing kin." It was not a question.

Caius's brows drew down. "Yes. I was taken into darkness, to a place so savage my soul shrinks from remembering. A place beyond all hope." His gaze slipped somewhere far away. "Then we were returned, my kin and I. Borne by a great power, on the wings of azure light. That, I _do_ remember."

Severus lowered his gaze. He looked like a man struggling with feelings too profound to show. The two centaurs waited until he raised his eyes again.

"May I see her?"

Without a word, Firenze and Caius stepped aside. Taking a deep breath, Severus approached the oak tree and sank down on one knee about three feet from the tree's black hollow. He spread his hands, palms up.

"Have a care," said Firenze softly.

"Vinata." said Severus, his voice barely above a whisper. "Show yourself. You'll suffer no harm from me, I promise." Sunlight struck him from behind, sending fingers of golden light and long thin shadows into the tree's hollow. In that blackness something moved; light slid liquidly along dull green scales. Then, inch by slow inch emerged the snake's blunt head—jaws wide apart, fangs glistening. She reared up about three feet, hood spread. For a long unearthly moment, human and snake stared at each other. Then Vinata's head sank to the ground. She hissed, yellow eyes glaring up at Severus in helpless rage.

Carefully, his eyes never leaving hers, Severus took a small jar from his pocket and unstoppered it. White liquid glimmered within. Slowly, he crouched to place the jar on the ground between him and the snake.

"You're feeding her?" Caius burst out.

"I'm giving her a choice," said Severus. "A slow death by starvation, or a quick death by poison."

"You show her far more mercy than she showed you," said Caius. "Why?"

Still holding Vinata's yellow gaze, Severus replied softly, "Because I can."

* * *

By Hermione's ninth day at St. Mungo's, Healer Trickett pronounced her patient stable enough to be discharged—as long as she had someone to stay with. Hermione agreed to go home with her parents, who were overjoyed at the chance to lavish their little girl with loving care and pots of tea. For the first hour or so, Hermione appreciated the attention. By evening, she felt like screaming. It wasn't that she missed living alone in her overpriced, curry-smelling flat: once her little island of independence. No. It was that she'd changed fundamentally, and not just because of what she had endured in Vinata's realm. Deep in her bones she knew the truth: because of Severus Snape. She felt like a particle in spooky tandem with its mate on the other side of the universe, always aware of the other particle's presence.

She had to find him. She couldn't let him face Vinata alone.

It took hours for sleep to come. When it did, she dreamt of two white tombs, and in her dream they shone so brilliantly that the light woke her. Squinting, she saw that her curtains had been opened. A pale autumn dawn spilled across her bed, and a pot of tea waited on the night table.

McGonagall's tomb. The urge to go there felt so strong she imagined geese must feel the same way about flying south for the winter.

It took some convincing ( _I'm feeling much better. Honestly!_ ) for Hermione's parents to let her go out alone ( _Just for a walk!_ ). She had to agree to take her mother's mobile. But at last she escaped into the weak, misty sunlight. About ten houses away, she ducked into a discreet little lane way, turned off the mobile, and Disapparated. She was quite familiar with this route; she knew she'd have to pass through three Apparation points to get anywhere near Hogwarts. Still, the journey was rough; by the time she completed the third Apparation and she could finally see Hogwarts' gates off to her right, she felt dizzy and drained. _Note to self,_ Hermione thought grimly. _Three Apparations not recommended if recently bedridden._

Breathing hard, she slogged off toward the lakeside. It was lunch time; all going well she wouldn't run into students or suspicious staff wondering why she was prowling around Hogwarts' perimeter. As she picked her way through a patch of sparse, slender firs, she glimpsed the lake ahead, silver in the misty sunlight. Then she saw them: two white marble tombs where before there had been one: Dumbledore's. She faltered at the sight, her steps hesitating.

A sound whispered behind her, barely louder than a breath. She whirled to see a centaur looming above her, arms folded across its broad chest. He had curly brown hair and a crisp beard. He exuded no sense of threat, yet something about his thoughtful eyes struck a disquieting chord—as if he had seen sights too dark, too strange to describe.

"You would be Hermione Weasley, née Granger." The deep voice seemed to shiver through her bones.

"Just Granger," she said, and for some reason blushed furiously.

"You're here at last," said the centaur. "It took you long enough."

"I was ill," she said indignantly. "I couldn't come to the funeral."

"Either that, or you're even more stubborn than _he_ is."

 _He?_ As Hermione stared, baffled, the centaur nodded at the tombs. "They are warded, but not against you." He flashed a grim smile, teeth startlingly white against the brown beard. "Hogwarts' grounds are yours to wander at your will—even the Forbidden Forest, should you ever desire it. None of its denizens will interfere with you." The centaur dipped his head in a slow, respectful nod. "Consider that a small token of our gratitude."

"Gratitude? For what?"

The centaur's face looked suddenly grim. "Some of us were taken from the heart of this Forest," he said in a low voice. "Trapped in a dark realm where we lost ourselves utterly. But a few of us returned—alive and well. Because of you."

Without warning, images rushed into Hermione's mind: a black and alien wood, a red glow pulsing like a heartbeat, a hollow tree. Monstrous, distorted centaurs closing in. Then magic, pure and brilliant, an azure force descending with inexorable mercy on Eznerif's kin. Magic conjured by her and Severus, bound by a power beyond any experience.

"It wasn't just me," she whispered. "I had help."

 _His body against mine. His mouth on mine._

She put her hands on her cheeks. They were wet.

"I know," said the centaur, his voice gentle. Then he nodded at the tombs. "Go and pay your respects before the Earth grows very much older."

As Hermione came out from beneath the trees the sun strengthened, tracing the two white tombs with a long line of fire. Squinting, she shielded her eyes with one hand, gripping her wand with the other in case the wards didn't let her pass. But she felt no resistance as she entered the shade of McGonagall's tomb. Hesitantly, she laid her palm against it, then she closed her eyes and rested her forehead on the marble. Cold, so cold. And except for a faraway call-and-response between two distant ravens, so silent.

She was alone. So much for the wild, stupid hope she would find Severus here. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, throat filling with grief.

Then she heard a sound. She jerked upright, eyes flying open. Again: a breath of wind, a quick crunch of fallen leaves. Heart pounding, Hermione crept around the tomb, toward the side facing the still, silvery lake. With a fluid movement she rounded the corner, wand extended.

And stopped dead.

The lean figure sat on the ground against the tomb, black-leather arms crossed over the chest, black-denim legs outstretched. The long black hair was tied back, exposing grey at the temples, accentuating the pale face and angular bones. He turned his head and looked up at Hermione with no more expression than the marble. She stared back, hardly daring to breathe.

"I wondered," he said at last, "how long it would be before you dragged yourself out of that sick-bed."

Hermione lowered her wand. "Or how long it would take _you_ to face me again," she said, a little surprised at how strong and clear she sounded.

Severus Snape pushed himself to his feet. "You needed to hear from me that you saved my life. I owed you that. But I made it clear my presence would put you in danger."

"Yes. You made it perfectly clear." Her voice rose. "How _dare_ you think you can sideline me, Snape. If Vinata's still alive, I want to find her as much as you do." Her fingers tightened around her wand. "I can deal with her as well as you can."

He let the echo of her shout die, then said quietly, "Vinata is no longer a threat."

Hermione stared at him, mouth open. Snape took a deep breath. "She left her dying universe for this one. But like her sister before her, she became trapped in her snake form. She was unable to feed." He took a step toward her. "I witnessed her death. As did two centaurs."

They stared at each other as cloud-shadows chased sunlight over the grass, skittered over the lake, moved across the silent tombs. Snape's hard black eyes held hers without a flicker of expression, and as the weight of that blackness squeezed her throat and heart, Hermione wondered if had horribly misread him, if he would turn on his heel and walk away, and that would be that. She would go back to her parents' tidy little house, then to her little flat, then to the Ministry, where she would try to stitch together the broken threads of her work. Pick up the pieces of her life, such as it was.

Hermione could no longer bear to look at him. She began to turn away.

She felt hands grip her shoulders, the shock of hot breath against her ear, then his mouth came down on hers hard, pinning her in place like a butterfly on a board. She froze in disbelief, then realized this was real; this was happening, and in dawning, incredulous joy she opened her mouth against his. With a low sound in his throat he deepened his kiss, his tongue probing hers, and she gripped his head with her hands as his arms slid around her and pulled her hard against him, so close she was shaken by the frantic thudding of their hearts. And as her mind whirled and her body trembled with wanting him, Hermione understood the deepest truth of all: for better or for worse their souls were entangled, and nothing in any universe could pull them apart. Not now. Not ever.

"Ahem," came a deep voice behind her. As if in a dream, Hermione felt Severus slowly pull back from her. She opened her eyes and found herself staring up into his. Nothing about his gaze looked cold or bleak or bitter. Now his eyes warmed her like fire, and she saw her own incandescent yearning reflected in their dark depths. She smiled slowly, and as the harsh lines of his mouth relaxed in answer, it seemed years fell from his face.

"If I may," came the deep voice again. Feeling only a bit embarrassed, as if she'd been caught standing too close to a picture in a gallery rather than in the first blush of foreplay, Hermione half turned to see the brown-bearded centaur standing a few feet away. "Perhaps you should do that _away_ from the tombs," he said in a mild tone that still managed to sound scandalized.

Hermione pushed one hand against her mouth to stifle a giggle. But to her surprise, Severus offered the centaur a short, solemn bow.

"Our apologies, Caius. We intended no disrespect." He took Hermione's arm. "Shall we return to London?" Though his voice was light, the look in his eyes pierced her with such raw longing that her breath stopped in her throat, and all she could do was nod.

* * *

Despite the warmth radiating from Severus's firm hand on her arm ( _alive—here—with me_ ), Hermione soon noticed that besides being hell on someone just out of a sickbed, repeated Apparations had a dampening effect on lust. Not to mention that after passing through the first Apparation point on their route to London, she began to worry stupidly about her flat. Had she Scourgified the place before leaving for Hogwarts so long ago? By the time they emerged from the third and final Apparition point—a novelty photo-booth buried near the back of the cheap antiques shop—her nerves and the physical strain were taking their toll. As they decanted themselves from the booth, she reflected that what she really wanted was a cup of tea and her favourite quilt. The thought of being alone with Severus in her dingy little flat seemed a bit terrifying.

A few minutes later, Hermione was pushing open a thick wooden door beside an Indian take-away. She led Severus up two flights of creaky wooden stairs, redolent of curry and lit unpleasantly by doughnut-shaped florescent bulbs, then down a hallway past several shabby beige doors—a hallway quite short, really, but time seemed to stretch as they walked in silence to the beige door at the end. The faux-brass "9" on the door looked crooked as if the numeral badly wanted to turn into a "6."

The man behind Hermione stayed silent. She could hear her heart pounding as she fitted her key in the lock.

The door opened directly into the living room. Sunlight turned the cream coloured curtains into brilliant rectangles. The parquet floor glowed, the sofa was devoid of underthings, and the air smelled fresh, thank Merlin—she must have Scourgified after all.

As Hermione stepped over the threshold, she felt Severus close the short distance between them. She froze. He touched her shoulder, then moved his hand to push the thick curly mass of her hair aside, just enough to expose the back of her neck. She felt his breath again, close and hot. Then his lips grazed her neck, and as the heat of that touch sizzled through her, she swayed a little, eyes half closing, all notions of a cup of tea and a favourite quilt utterly banished as his lips moved against her skin, moving closer to her jaw. She felt the quick dart of his tongue, and with a soft moan she turned to cup his face with her hands and capture his mouth with greedy joy.

Nothing else was real. Nothing else was true. Only this. She wrapped herself around Severus, breath and tongue and fire—felt his hands in her hair, the pressure of his eloquent mouth, the growing hardness of his erection. Then he shifted slightly, and through the roaring of blood in her ears she heard the sound of a door closing. Her front door, which had stood wide open to the hallway all this time. _Oh dear._ She smiled against his mouth.

He withdrew a little, and she met his eyes to see, reflected in that darkness, her own naked need. But as she moved to kiss him again, to her shock he held her back.

"Are you sure you want this?" he said in a low voice.

"Am I—? Bloody hell. What do _you_ think?"

Severus's eyes went opaque, and in sudden panic Hermione realized he was serious. She clutched his shoulders. "Yes," she said. "For God's sake, _yes_. And if you _ever_ again ask such a ridiculous question, I swear by Merlin's crystal cave I will Incarcerate you. Is _that_ a clear enough answer?"

During their bitter time in Vinata's realm, Hermione had seen Severus's grim half-smile, his ironic curl of the lips, his twitch of amusement. Now, though his lips curved only a little, his entire face seemed to light from within, and she gazed at him she knew the walls of the prison cell within him had crumbled at last.

"In Vinata's universe," he murmured, "I aged less than five years to your ten. That still makes me too old to let you ravish me on a hard floor. Do you have a bed?"

* * *

 **Note:** Much appreciation to Banglabou, FrancineHibiscus, ZoeyOlivia, and most of all "Guest" for your wonderful reviews!

The HEA isn't quite complete—there's one more chapter! It will be posted October 8.


	26. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

The sunlight slanting over the chaos of limbs and bedclothes was deepening from white to gold, and in the corners of the room shadows had begun to gather. A small part of Hermione's mind still able to focus on practicalities briefly considered whether she should call her mother, who was probably half-frantic by now. Then Severus stirred, and all practical thought flew away as she turned her head and smiled at the sight of him. He lay on his stomach, face buried in a pillow, hair a straggling mess, a warm, sinewy arm draped over her chest. How could he _sleep_? She couldn't possibly sleep. She'd spent days sleeping. Years. Now she wanted to lie here and look at this man until she died. No—she wanted to curl herself around him again, surround him, feel him over and under and inside her, again and again, in an astonishment of pleasure she had never known. Until now.

And then eat. She was starving. Curry would be perfect.

Hermione slid her hand along Severus's arm. He gave an indistinct murmur but didn't awake. With a soft sigh she looked the other way, smiling again at the ragged line of clothes strewn across the floor from the bedside through the living room to the front door: pants, vest, shirts, jumper, trousers with legs inside out, a leather jacket, his boots, her shoes. She vaguely remembered losing the clothes, but she remembered everything else in exquisite, shivering detail: his warm lips and teasing tongue, his hand beneath her shirt, the sweet torture of a thumb against her nipple, his sharp gasp as she slid both hands below his waistband to cup his erection, her own shuddering breath as he reached beneath her panties to find the hot wetness there. That was it. There was nothing she could do but drive herself against him until she came like a cauldron of oil lit by a firebrand. And as she subsided, still shuddering, she realized they were nowhere near her bed. They were still standing, Severus supporting her. Half laughing, half mortified, she looked up at him. His black eyes were brilliant with lust, yet he was smiling just a little.

"Yes," she said. " _You_ did this to me."

"You," he said softly, "are astonishing. A gift beyond anything I remotely deserve."

Hermione had closed the short distance between their mouths before he could say more rubbish about not deserving her. And then, somehow, they found the bed. With the same joyful greed with which they'd kissed at the tomb, Severus had pulled her down on top of him, and with delight she spread herself against and around him.

Their second time was even better. Less frantic. Utterly delicious.

Remembering, Hermione blushed. The walls weren't all that soundproof, and she'd forgotten to cast a silencing spell. Unless old Mrs Belmont was out shopping, she would have overheard a great deal of delight over the past couple of hours. And she was not the sort who would appreciate it. Oh, dear.

Oh, well.

She looked again at Severus. He still slept. In the fading light she saw several thin, straight scars running parallel along his back, like cuts, faded by time to silvery lines. There were other scars too, on his torso and arms—some more dire than his old Dark Mark. At first she had hesitated to touch them. But Severus, meeting her eyes steadily, had taken her hand and laid it against the ridge of whiplike markings on his side. "They don't hurt. I don't believe they ever will again," he whispered.

She didn't have the heart to wake him. At least not yet. Very gently Hermione eased out from beneath Severus's out-flung arm and slid out of bed. After a quick trip to the bathroom, where she contemplated and rejected transforming her blue terry dressing gown into a slinky negligee, she extracted her wand from her jumper sleeve. She then considered the cupboards of her tiny galley kitchen. No whisky, no wine, nor even beer. Tea would have to do. Hermione waved her wand to put the tea-making in motion, then frowned at the front door. Time for a Deflection charm in case her parents got it into their heads to check her flat. And, of course, that long-overdue silencing spell. As Hermione felt subtle power tracing the perimeter of her flat, she sighed. It felt so good to do proper magic again, the kind that didn't rebound chaotically or attack with teeth, that she set her wand to work on the discarded clothes, watching with satisfaction as they straightened out, folded up, and draped themselves neatly across the back of the sofa.

But as Severus's leather jacket began to rise from the floor, a silvery phial rolled out from one of the pockets. Frowning, Hermione bent to pick it up. It was the size of a small water bottle. It wasn't heavy, but something moved inside, something slow and curling.

She heard a faint sound behind her and whirled to see Severus standing a few feet away, wrapped from waist to knees in one of her bath sheets. He had started to smile as she faced him, but his face shut down the moment he saw what she held. In two quick strides he was there. Without force he took the phial from her, holding it as if it might shatter or explode, and placed it on her coffee table. When he looked at her again, she was unable to read his face, unable to tell what he was thinking.

"What is it?" she said quietly.

Severus sat on the sofa and extended a hand to her. After a moment she took it, and gently he pulled her down beside him. Still he said nothing. She felt the tension in his fingers.

"You know it was Potter who got me into St. Mungo's to see you," he said at last. "And got me out without being discovered."

"Harry's good at that kind of thing," Hermione said dryly, and Severus shot her a glinting look.

"Before we parted, he gave me this. He said it's no longer his to keep." Now Severus faced her fully, his eyes sober. With a horrible shock she realized what he meant, what was in the phial he now held. For a moment, she couldn't breathe.

"Your memories," she said at last. Her lips felt numb. Of course. Now that he was alive and back in the Wizarding World, he'd have to take them back. They were his; they were part of him. But when he did—the moment he did, even after everything they'd been through together, Severus Snape would be a different person. He would once again love Lily Potter, bitterly and hard—a woman who had died decades ago. He would not love Hermione Granger. Severus would be as lost to her as if he were truly dead.

Hermione pulled her hand from his and looked down at her clenched fingers. "If you're going to—to take them back, please go," she said shakily. "Just go."

"Look at me, Hermione," Severus said, his voice low. As she dragged her gaze back to his, he abruptly pulled the stopper from the phial. Her hand flying to her mouth, she lurched toward him as if she could somehow stop the memories from escaping. But Severus held the phial out of her reach. For a moment she struggled, then she realized no memories were drifting from the phial; no grey wisps of disembodied thought.

"Look inside." Severus held out the phial. She took it, hand trembling slightly, and peered cautiously into the mouth. No trace of memories—only something like water, perhaps an inch or so, curling around the bottom of the phial with a strange thick movement that reminded her of quicksilver. She took a breath and the smell filled her nostrils, her entire body: fresh, living, brilliant as dawn. She had last smelled and tasted that water in Vinata's white tower room, just before Severus had taken her into that liminal, timeless space where they had shared souls.

She looked at Severus again, shaking her head. "I don't understand. Where are the memories?"

He took the phial from her, carefully stoppered it, and placed it on the table. Then he held both her hands in his. "If either Albus or Minerva had still been alive," he said softly, looking down their intertwined fingers, "I might have considered taking back those memories. They may have been able to help me accept them." He sighed. "I went to their tombs. All night I held vigil. When dawn came, I unstopped this phial—" his hands tightened a fraction "—and I watched my memories fade like smoke into the light."

Severus Snape raised his head and looked into her eyes. "And then you came."

As Hermione gazed at him, she felt a great burden rise from her, a dark and heavy _What If?_ sliding from her shoulders. Bowing her head, she rested her cheek against his warm hands. Silence filled the room. When at last she raised her head again, Severus still looked at her, his face in repose; his eyes full of feeling.

She cleared her throat. "But the water? I thought none was left."

His eyes lightened in a look like wonder. "The day Vinata died, I found an almost empty flask buried in my rucksack." He nodded at the silver phial. "What held my memories now holds the last mouthful."

"It can't be from Vinata's realm," said Hermione. "It's too—beautiful."

"She never told me its origin," Severus said quietly. "But I suspect it's ancient—perhaps the Naga's very birth-place, when their universe was young."

"Or another universe," said Hermione. She felt her pulse quickening. "Severus. What if we could find its origin?" She slid her hands impulsively up his wrists. "I now know it's possible to open up the multiverse using quantum magic, not other people's life-energies. Oh Severus . . . what if you and I could travel to any universe? Even ones brighter than ours—at the very dawn of their existence?"

He looked at her soberly. For some reason she felt he was weighing her words with more than his usual attentiveness. But before silence could stretch into uneasiness, Severus gathered her close, so close she felt the beating of his heart. She put her arms around him with a sigh.

"You're about to say," she whispered, "that's how the Naga began. They started out exploring the multiverse. And then . . ."

"Not now," he said, his voice soft against her hair, "Now, I need to know only one thing. May I set up a worktable in a corner of your dingy little flat? With perhaps a small cupboard?"

Hermione looked up at him, grinning. "I can do _much_ better than that. I'll create a pocket-universe just for you—with your very own dungeon."

"Don't let this quantum magic go to your head, Granger. A potions room will do nicely, and a bedroom while you're at it." His mouth quirked. "The larger, the better."

~~ FINITE INCANTATEM ~~

* * *

 **One Last Note:** Thank you so very much for joining me on this journey!

A major inspiration for Vinata's dark universe is the work of C.L. Moore, one of the first American SF-fantasy writers—especially her haunting story "The Black God's Kiss." My realm doesn't begin to compare with Moore's brilliantly dark otherworlds, so if you like SF or fantasy with a kick-ass heroine, definitely check out her work (Google "C.L. Moore Black God's Kiss").


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